I 


CI     DE  CLARKE 


BBBBP,       |  •    t 

f  *-, 


'They  listened   to  her  tell  the  stories  as  she  took  out  one 
little  memento  after  another."        [PAGE  262.] 


RECORD  No.  33 


BY 

IDA  CLYDE  CLARKE 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
STOCKTON  MULFORD 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

1915 


COPYRIGHT,  1915,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO  MY  SONS 
BEVERLY  CLARKE 

AND 

CHARLES  HADEN  CLARKE 

WHOSE  TENDER  LOVE  AND  STEAD- 
FAST FAITH  HAVE  INSPIRED 
AND  SUSTAINED  EVERY  EFFORT 
I  HAVE  PUT  INTO  IT,  THIS  BOOK 
IS  LOVINGLY  DEDICATED 


2134862 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I.  AMELIE'S  CATHEDRAL  GARDEN  ...  i 

II.  THE  IMPRISONED  VOICE 21 

III.  "THE  FATHER  OF  JULIUS"     ....  36 

IV.  SOMEBODY  STARTS  A  GHOST  STORY  .     .  48 
V.  RECORD  No.  33 63 

VI.  SOME  LETTERS  AND  A  LOAN  ....  76 

VII.  SYMPATHY  AND  RED  WINGS  ....  93 

VIII.  THE  FATAL  YELLOW  SLIP     ....  108 

IX.  A  FLATTERING  OFFER 121 

X.  LIGHT  FROM  WITHIN 132 

XI.  MR.    CHALMERS    HAS    AN    IDEA    AND 

AMELIE  MAKES  A  VISIT  .     .     .      .  149 

XII.  AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 165 

XIII.  Miss  WARREN'S  CARBON  COPY  .      .     .  179 

XIV.  Miss  INNOCENCE 198 

XV.  "Miss  INNOCENCE"  AND  THE  PROFESSOR  216 

XVI.  MR.    CHALMERS    SECURES    NEW    AND 

STARTLING  EVIDENCE 238 

XVII.  MEMORIES  AND  A  STORM 252 

XVIII.  THE  PROFESSOR  FINDS  A  CLUE  .     .     .  270 

XIX.  THE  SKELETON  IN  AMELIE'S  CLOSET     .  282 

XX.  THE  REWARD 307 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"They  listened  to  her  tell  the  stories  as  she  took  out 

one  little  memento  after  another."  .      .      Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

"  'Ef  dey  ain'  no  man  her'  how  kin  er  man  be  er 

talkin'?'" 64 

"  'From  Louisiana!'  he  said  softly.     'How  very  inter- 
esting.' " 176 

"He  took  both  her  hands  in  his  own  and  held  them 

fast  while  he  looked  into  her  wondering  eyes."     .     308 


RECORD  NO.   33 

CHAPTER   I 

AMELIE'S  CATHEDRAL  GARDEN 

MISS  AMELIE,  isn't  it  time  to  take  the  or- 
ange-tree out  into  the  sunshine?" 

For  some  minutes  Amelle  Trent  had 
been  standing  at  the  window  of  her  own  little  sitting- 
room,  watching  the  clouds  of  purplish  pink  peach- 
blossoms  float  above  the  carpet  of  velvet  bluegrass 
that  Spring  was  weaving  over  the  Kentucky  mea- 
dows. The  fragrance  of  plum-blossoms  drifted  in 
and  the  birds  sang  plaintively  in  the  crepe  myrtle 
bushes.  It  was  springtime  in  Kentucky  and  it  was 
springtime  in  Amelie's  heart,  for  she  felt  the  strange 
oppression  of  a  new  and  nascent  joy. 

Out  in  her  little  garden,  day  after  day,  she  had 
seen  slender  green  leaves  stealing  softly  along  the 
aisles,  like  Nature's  altar  boys  in  surplices  of  mystic 
white  frost,  lighting  the  golden  tapers  of  daffodils 
and  jonquils  under  the  blossoming  domes  of  snowy 
bridal  wreath  and  brilliant  redbud.  Very  faintly 


RECORD  NO. 


the  soft  Spring  sunshine — "it  would  be  a  great  big 
tree,  perhaps  as  big  as  the  old  sycamore  there  in  the 
corner  of  the  garden,  and  it  would  be  all  filled  with 
fragrant  blossoms,  and  before  you  knew  it  there 
would  be  more  oranges  on  it  than  you  could  eat  this 
whole  Winter.  It's  homesick  and  cold  and  we  must 
not  expect  too  much  of  it." 

Jeanne  turned  her  big  eyes  from  Amelie's  fascinat- 
ing face  to  the  orange-tree  and  regarded  it  atten- 
tively and  sorrowfully.  Then  she  looked  again  at 
her  friend. 

"And  is  that  the  reason  you  are  not  happy  here 
in  Kentucky  sometimes,  and  is  that  why  you  get 
homesick — just  like  the  orange-tree?"  she  said. 

A  quick  sharp  pain  snatched  at  Amelie's  heart,  the 
light  of  smiles  died  out  of  her  eyes  and  involuntarily 
she  gave  a  slight  gasp  of  surprise. 

"Why  I  am  happy  here  in  Kentucky,"  she  told 
the  child,  almost  impatiently.  "Why  do  you  think 
I  am  not  happy?"  and  she  bent  down  and  searched 
Jeanne's  fair,  innocent  face. 

Had  the  quick  sympathy  of  the  child  penetrated 
the  mask  she  had  been  wearing,  had  she  noticed  a 
change,  or  was  Jeanne  merely  reflecting  the  opinion 
of  older  people?  Her  secret  I  Could  it  be  that  she 
had  guessed,  or  perhaps  had  overheard? 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  you  are  unhappy  all  the  time — 

4 


AMELIE' S  CATHEDRAL  GARDEN 

only  sometimes — when  you  looked  as  you  did  just 
now  before  we  brought  the  orange-tree  out,"  she  said 
quickly,  as  if  anxious  to  leave  an  uninteresting  sub- 
ject. 

But  Amelie  was  not  satisfied.  "Other  people  do 
not  think  I  am  unhappy,  do  they?"  she  asked  with 
earnest,  questioning  face. 

Jeanne  smoothed  out  the  skirt  of  her  plaid  ging- 
ham dress,  nervously.  "I  don't  know,"  she  said. 
Then  her  eyes  wandered  across  the  street  to  the 
brow  of  the  hill  where  a  prim  white  cottage  stood, 
and  the  picture  that  met  her  eyes  evidently  prompted 
her  next  remark.  "Miss  Minnie  Martin  says  you've 
been  disappointed  in  love,"  she  said,  repeating  me- 
chanically words  she  had  heard.  Then  seeing  the 
swift  flush  that  swept  into  Amelie's  face,  she  has- 
tened to  add  reassuringly,  "but  mother  said  Miss 
Minnie  doesn't  know  any  more  about  who  you  were 
or  what  you  were  or  what  you  had  done  before  you 
came  to  Kentucky  to  live  than  the  rest  of  us  do.  And 
she  doesn't — does  she?" 

Amelie  felt  as  if  cold  water  had  suddenly  been 
dashed  upon  her,  and  she  was  grateful  that  Jeanne's 
mother  called  to  her  at  that  moment  from  her  home 
across  the  street,  and  that  she  was  saved  from  reply- 
ing. She  sat  with  her  chin  in  the  hollow  of  her 
hand,  her  elbow  resting  on  her  knee,  and  her  face 

5 


RECORD  NO.  33 


was  set,  almost  cold.  Her  eyes  were  turned  toward 
the  prim  white  cottage  on  the  hill  where  Minnie 
Martin's  thin  figure,  clad  in  blue  calico,  gave  the 
only  motion  to  the  scene. 

Minnie  was  busily  engaged  hanging  out  freshly 
washed  clothes  on  the  lines  that  were  stretched  under 
the  apple-tree,  and  through  the  clear  air  came  her 
high  rasping  voice  in  song,  "Will  There  Be  Any 
Stars  in  My  Crown?" 

Amelie  asked  herself  again  if  it  could  be  possible 
that  anyone  had  suspected  her  secret,  and  as  she  sat 
there  she  went  over  the  events  that  transpired  on  a 
certain  evening  two  weeks  before. 

On  that  eventful  night  Jeanne  had  come  in  with 
the  raindrops  glistening  on  her  curls,  and  her  cheeks 
crimson.  For  some  time  she  had  sat  in  a  low  chair 
and  gossiped  about  the  neighborhood  doings. 

She  had  jumped  up  suddenly  and  stared  at  Amelie 
for  a  moment,  and  then  a  smile  broke  over  her  face. 
"I  know  you'll  forgive  me,  Miss  Amelie,"  she  said; 
"I  forgot  one  of  the  main  things  I  came  over  here 
for.  Daddy  says  there  is  a  box  at  the  express  office 
for  you.  He  says  it  is  a  big  box,  and  that  it's  right 
heavy,  but  if  you  must  have  it  to-night,  he  is  going  to 
the  lodge,  and  he  will  bring  it  home  with  him  in  the 
buggy." 

Amelie  remembered  that  she  must  have  looked 

6 


AMELIE' S  CATHEDRAL  GARDEN 

guilty  and  confused.  She  had  never  before  kept  a 
secret  from  Jeanne,  and  not  till  then  had  she  ever 
deceived  her. 

"Miss  Minnie  heard  Daddy  talking  about  it,"  the 
child  continued,  "and  she  said  it  was  so  unhandy 
opening  boxes  late  at  night  that  if  she  was  you  she'd 
wait  till  morning,  when  some  of  us  could  come  over 
and  help  you." 

Amelie  remembered  that  she  winced  despite  her 
excitement  and  embarrassment,  and  that  she  had 
resented  Minnie  Martin's  curiosity. 

"It  will  be  all  right,"  she  said,  and  she  had  tried 
to  seem  only  partially  interested.  "I  can  get  it  open 
all  right  without  troubling  Miss  Minnie,  and  I  must 
have  it  to-night — I  just  must.  Please  run  right  over 
and  tell  your  father  I'll  appreciate  it  ever  so  much 
if  he  will  bring  it  up  to-night." 

Jeanne  ran  off  to  give  the  message  to  her  father, 
leaving  Amelie  feeling  extremely  uncomfortable. 
She  knew  that  Jeanne  would  expect  to  know  all  about 
the  box  and  its  contents,  but  she  felt  then  as  she 
knew  now  that  she  could  never  tell  her. 

She  smiled  at  the  memory  of  her  own  girlish  ex- 
citement over  the  arrival  of  the  box,  and  thought 
of  the  night  the  secret  had  leaked  out  at  school  that 
Mary  Webb  had  run  away  and  married.  After  all 
there  was  something  fascinating  about  a  secret! 

7 


RECORD  NO.  33 


How  the  very  thought  of  the  contents  of  that  box 
sent  the  blood  surging  to  her  cheeks  even  now,  and 
made  her  heart  beat  as  it  had  never  beat  before ! 

It  was  only  after  Jeanne  had  reported  that  her 
father  would  bring  the  box,  and  had  gone  home 
again,  that  Amelie  began  to  feel  almost  afraid  of 
what  she  had  done.  She  remembered  Minnie  Mar- 
tin's curiosity  and  she  knew  how  difficult  it  was  going 
to  be  to  guard  her  secret.  Then  she  thought  of 
Jeanne,  from  whom  also  she  must  withhold  any 
knowledge  of  the  contents  of  the  box  which  was  so 
soon  to  arrive.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  a  little 
happiness  seemed  to  light  up  all  the  dark  ways  be- 
fore her  just  as  fast  as  they  appeared,  and  a  certain 
consciousness  of  satisfaction  at  having,  for  once  at 
least,  asserted  herself,  stimulated  her  against  every 
unpleasant  thought. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  at  last  she  recog- 
nized the  sound  of  Mr.  Mather's  horse  and  buggy  as 
they  came  down  the  pike  and  stopped  at  her  gate, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  minutes  that  elapsed 
before  he  finally  deposited  the  box  at  her  feet  were 
hours. 

"It's  pretty  heavy,  Miss  Amelie,"  he  said,  "and 
it's  nailed  up  good  and  fast.  Better  let  me  open  it 
for  you." 

Amelie  didn't  exactly  suspect  him  of  curiosity,  but 


AMELIE'S  CATHEDRAL  GARDEN 

she  flushed  as  she  assured  him  that  she  didn't  want 
it  opened — not  just  then. 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  with  her  hands  scratched 
and  bruised,  her  hair  disheveled,  and  her  face  crim- 
son, Amelie  Trent  stood  on  the  fringe  of  her  first 
adventure. 

At  her  feet  was  the  big  ugly  box  which,  with  the 
greatest  difficulty,  she  had  just  succeeded  in  opening, 
and  which  was  now  the  most  conspicuous  object  in 
her  usually  tidy  little  room.  Stepping  cautiously 
around  it,  she  went  to  the  windows  and  carefully 
drew  each  shade  a  little  lower  and  adjusted  the  white 
Swiss  curtains  to  make  perfectly  sure,  for  the  third 
time,  that  no  curious  eyes  could  see. 

Her  heart  was  pounding  provokingly,  and  after 
she  had  turned  again  toward  the  box,  she  hesitated, 
as  if  half-afraid;  and  still,  why  should  she  feel  thus, 
like  a  thief  in  the  night,  in  her  own  house? 

Teasingly  the  frozen  raindrops  tapped  on  the  win- 
dows, for  a  wintry  chill  lingered  in  the  air,  and,  as 
if  to  further  taunt  her  about  what  she  was  beginning 
to  fear  had  been  a  reckless  act,  cruel  little  gusts  of 
wind  would  now  and  then  drive  dripping  peach-tree 
branches  furiously  against  the  pane. 

Inside,  the  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  rapid 
ticking  of  the  old  French  clock  that  was  telling  off 
the  moments  just  as  indifferently  and  monotonously 

9 


RECORD  NO.  33 


as  it  had  told  off  the  ordinary  moments  of  all  of 
those  ordinary  years.  On  either  side  of  it  her  grand- 
mother's brass  candlesticks  stood  like  miniature  sen- 
tinels on  guard  for  her,  as  stiff  and  straight  and 
heedless  as  if  nothing  were  about  to  happen.  And 
the  sweet  pictured  face  of  her  French  mother  looked 
benignly  down  upon  it  all  from  the  heavy  gilt  frame 
above  the  mantel.  The  fire  was  getting  low,  and  out 
of  the  deepening  shadows  she  saw,  above  a  shelf  of 
her  favorite  books,  the  tragically  forlorn  and  droop- 
ing figure  in  Watt's  exquisite  picture  "Hope,"  and 
slowly  there  came  to  her  a  consciousness  of  the  single 
star  in  the  misty  background  I 

Several  nights  before  she  sat  in  that  room  and 
wrote  the  letter  that  brought  the  wonderful  box  to 
her.  For  months  she  had  been  conscious  of  a 
strange  unrest.  Something  stirred  down  in  the 
depths  of  her  nature.  Something  seemed  to  be  call- 
ing to  her  from  afar  off.  Neither  her  French  classes 
at  the  Merryville  High  School  in  the  afternoons  nor 
her  French  studies  at  home  in  the  evenings  interested 
her  now.  The  printed  pages  were  unresponsive  and 
cold.  All  of  the  world  in  which  she  lived  seemed 
strangely  distant,  and  to  the  haunting  questionings 
within  her  no  answers  came. 

She  felt  vaguely  that  under  the  surface  of  things 
surely  there  must  be  palpitating  life,  glowing 

10 


AMELIE'S  CATHEDRAL  GARDEN 

warmth,  imprisoned  light,  as  out  in  her  little  garden 
even  then  the  miracle  of  Spring  was  being  wrought 
under  the  dark  bursting  sod.  In  that  mystic  garden 
of  her  own  soul  did  the  wonder-blossoms  of  love 
quiver  and  wait  under  the  famished,  hardened  soil 
of  her  outer  life? 

Every  house  on  the  hill  had  been  dark  for  hours, 
when  she  got  out  a  little  old-fashioned  desk  that 
night  and  prepared  to  write  the  letter  that  was  to 
change  the  whole  world  for  her.  The  desk  had  been 
her  mother's,  and  she  always  handled  it  with  a  pe- 
culiar reverence.  The  blue  felt  lining  had  faded, 
and  the  hinges  were  broken,  but  the  bouquets  of 
mother-of-pearl  roses  which  were  inlaid  on  the  top 
were  as  bright  and  as  beautiful  as  ever.  To  her 
romantic  soul  these  symbolized  the  memory  of  her 
sweet-faced  mother  and  her  Louisiana  days. 

Bluebell,  her  big  Maltese  cat,  had  stretched  her- 
self more  than  once  and  looked  up  into  the  face  of 
her  mistress,  as  if  to  remind  her  that  the  fire  was 
getting  low,  and  that  the  French  clock  on  the  mantel 
was  ticking  on  toward  morning.  But  Amelie  only 
put  on  more  coal,  and  drew  the  old  chair  with  its 
bright  cretonne  covers  nearer  the  fire. 

As  she  adjusted  the  hinges  of  the  old  writing-desk, 
the  sweet,  far-off  memories  began  to  stir  again.  She 
thought  of  her  mother  with  her  breaking  young 

ii 


RECORD  NO.  33 


as  it  had  told  off  the  ordinary  moments  of  all  of 
those  ordinary  years.  On  either  side  of  it  her  grand- 
mother's brass  candlesticks  stood  like  miniature  sen- 
tinels on  guard  for  her,  as  stiff  and  straight  and 
heedless  as  if  nothing  were  about  to  happen.  And 
the  sweet  pictured  face  of  her  French  mother  looked 
benignly  down  upon  it  all  from  the  heavy  gilt  frame 
above  the  mantel.  The  fire  was  getting  low,  and  out 
of  the  deepening  shadows  she  saw,  above  a  shelf  of 
her  favorite  books,  the  tragically  forlorn  and  droop- 
ing figure  in  Watt's  exquisite  picture  "Hope,"  and 
slowly  there  came  to  her  a  consciousness  of  the  single 
star  in  the  misty  background  I 

Several  nights  before  she  sat  in  that  room  and 
wrote  the  letter  that  brought  the  wonderful  box  to 
her.  For  months  she  had  been  conscious  of  a 
strange  unrest.  Something  stirred  down  in  the 
depths  of  her  nature.  Something  seemed  to  be  call- 
ing to  her  from  afar  off.  Neither  her  French  classes 
at  the  Merryville  High  School  in  the  afternoons  nor 
her  French  studies  at  home  in  the  evenings  interested 
her  now.  The  printed  pages  were  unresponsive  and 
cold.  All  of  the  world  in  which  she  lived  seemed 
strangely  distant,  and  to  the  haunting  questionings 
within  her  no  answers  came. 

She  felt  vaguely  that  under  the  surface  of  things 
surely  there  must  be  palpitating  life,  glowing 

10 


AMELIE'S  CATHEDRAL  GARDEN 

warmth,  imprisoned  light,  as  out  in  her  little  garden 
even  then  the  miracle  of  Spring  was  being  wrought 
under  the  dark  bursting  sod.  In  that  mystic  garden 
of  her  own  soul  did  the  wonder-blossoms  of  love 
quiver  and  wait  under  the  famished,  hardened  soil 
of  her  outer  life? 

Every  house  on  the  hill  had  been  dark  for  hours, 
when  she  got  out  a  little  old-fashioned  desk  that 
night  and  prepared  to  write  the  letter  that  was  to 
change  the  whole  world  for  her.  The  desk  had  been 
her  mother's,  and  she  always  handled  it  with  a  pe- 
culiar reverence.  The  blue  felt  lining  had  faded, 
and  the  hinges  were  broken,  but  the  bouquets  of 
mother-of-pearl  roses  which  were  inlaid  on  the  top 
were  as  bright  and  as  beautiful  as  ever.  To  her 
romantic  soul  these  symbolized  the  memory  of  her 
sweet-faced  mother  and  her  Louisiana  days. 

Bluebell,  her  big  Maltese  cat,  had  stretched  her- 
self more  than  once  and  looked  up  into  the  face  of 
her  mistress,  as  if  to  remind  her  that  the  fire  was 
getting  low,  and  that  the  French  clock  on  the  mantel 
was  ticking  on  toward  morning.  But  Amelie  only 
put  on  more  coal,  and  drew  the  old  chair  with  its 
bright  cretonne  covers  nearer  the  fire. 

As  she  adjusted  the  hinges  of  the  old  writing-desk, 
the  sweet,  far-off  memories  began  to  stir  again.  She 
thought  of  her  mother  with  her  breaking  young 

ii 


RECORD  NO.  33 


heart  down  among  the  orange-trees  and  of  how  dif- 
ferent her  own  life  might  have  been  if  her  mother 
had  lived. 

This  was  by  no  means  the  first  time  Amelie  had 
felt  an  almost  irresistible  impulse  to  break  away 
from  the  cruel  things  that  bound  her,  to  let  her 
capricious  spirit  assert  itself,  to  do  something  new, 
something  different,  something  that  other  people 
had  not  thought  out  for  her,  something  she  had  not 
even  thought  out  for  herself.  But  that  night  the 
impulse  was  more  impelling,  more  irresistible  than 
ever  before. 

Suddenly,  as  she  began  to  write,  she  felt  a  great 
longing  which  seemed  almost  to  melt  into  a  vision  of 
sympathy,  companionship,  love !  It  swept  over  her 
and  engulfed  her,  and  then  receded  and  left  her 
stranded  on  a  shore  of  monotonous  sands  and  end- 
less stretches  of  sea  and  sky. 

Just  then  Bluebell  stirred  from  the  rug  at  her 
mistress's  feet,  looked  up  sleepily,  sat  erect  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  rubbed  her  velvet  head  against  the 
girl's  foot. 

"Oh,  Bluebell!"  Amelie  burst  out.  "If  you  were 
only  human,  and  if  you  were  as  fine  and  splendid  a 
human  as  you  are  fine  and  splendid  a  cat,  how  happy 
I  could  be!  I'm  so  lonely!" 

And  Bluebell  only  stretched  and  purred  and 

12 


dreamed  off  to  sleep  again — very  human  after  all  i£ 
Amelie  had  only  known  it. 

On  her  way  to  school  next  day  she  dropped  the 
letter  she  had  written  in  the  box  at  the  post  office 
with  a  queer  little  feeling,  half  fright  and  half 
rapture. 

And  then  at  last  came  that  other  eventful  night 
when  the  box,  with  its  mysterious  contents,  actually 
arrived.  There  it  was  at  her  very  feet,  ready  to  give 
up  its  secret!  Bluebell  sat  before  the  fire  as  usual 
and  dozed  fitfully  and  uneasily,  a  solemn  but  unin- 
terested witness  to  these  unusual  happenings.  Now 
and  then  she  would  open  her  big  yellow  eyes  and  cast 
furtive,  sidelong  glances  at  her  mistress.  Then,  just 
as  Amelie  was  about  to  begin  her  investigations,  she 
sat  straight  up,  with  her  tail  curled  precisely  around 
her  gray  velvet  forepaws,  and  looked  distinctly  un- 
happy. Even  Bluebell's  dignity  and  indifference 
seemed  a  reproach,  and  the  old  restless  feeling  dis- 
turbed the  girl  again  for  a  fleeting  moment.  Then 
the  muscles  of  her  face  relaxed,  the  uneasiness  died 
out  of  her  face  and  a  smile  came  into  her  eyes  and 
curved  her  red  lips.  Brushing  back  the  brown  hair 
from  her  smooth,  white  forehead,  she  dropped  on 
her  knees  beside  the  box  and  laughed  outright. 

On  the  top  of  the  excelsior  that  seemed  to  be 
placed  layer  upon  layer  under  the  rough  cover,  lay 

13 


RECORD  NO.  33 


an  elaborately  illustrated  circular,  and,  taking  this 
out,  she  began  to  read. 

These  records  were  made  by  a  cultured  French  Professor. 
"Just  think  of  it!"  she  exclaimed  delightedly. 

The  voice  is  just  as  natural  as  if  he  were  in  the  room 
with  you, 

she  continued  to  read. 

"And  I  can  scarcely  wait  to  hear  you,  Professor," 
she  added.  "I've  been  wanting  all  my  life  to  go  to 
France  to  hear  my  mother's  native  tongue,  to  know 
some  of  my  mother's  countrymen.  And  so  now  I 
have  you"  and  she  almost  hugged  the  big,  straw- 
filled  box. 

From  under  the  excelsior  she  lifted,  piece  by  piece, 
that  strange,  wonderful  little  machine,  which  was  to 
bring  to  her,  in  some  mysterious  manner,  the  voice 
of  a  "cultured  French  Professor,"  for  she  had  or- 
dered on  that  memorable  night  a  language  phono- 
graph "for  the  study  of  the  French  language." 

One  by  one  she  took  out  the  records,  handling 
them  with  the  tenderest  care. 

Very  carefully  she  adjusted  the  parts,  according 
to  the  directions,  until  at  last  the  queer-looking  little 
machine  stood  there  all  in  readiness  to  convey  to  her 
eager  ear  that  voice  from — where? 


AMELIE'S  CATHEDRAL  GARDEN 

Quite  gently  she  took  up  one  of  the  black  rubber 
records  and  adjusted  it  cautiously.  Then,  once  more, 
she  kept  perfectly  still  and  listened,  to  be  sure  that 
no  one  else  should  hear. 

After  reading  the  directions  attentively,  with 
trembling  hand  she  pushed  a  lever  and  very  gently 
lowered  the  needle  above  the  record. 

At  first  there  was  just  a  whirring  and  a  buzzing, 
and  then — there  came  a  moment  that  she  could 
never  forget — that  moment  in  which  she  heard  for 
the  first  time  the  deep,  beautiful,  sympathetic  voice 
of  the  French  Professor! 

What  was  he  saying?  With  lips  parted  into  half 
a  smile  and  wide,  unseeing  eyes  fixed  on  her  mother's 
pictured  face,  she  listened.  As  clearly  as  if  he  were 
standing  at  her  side  she  heard  him  say: 

"Est-ce  que  je  vous  derange?"  (I  hope  I  am  not 
disturbing  you. ) 

And  then : 

"II  y  a  un  siecle  qu'on  ne  vous  a  vu."  (I  have  not 
seen  you  for  a  long  time.)  "Comme  vous  devenez 
rare."  (You  are  quite  a  stranger.) 

Amelie's  heart  was  beating  rapidly.  Involuntarily 
she  looked  around  the  room  to  be  sure  that  she  was 
alone  with  the  machine,  and  that  the  French  Pro- 
fessor in  the  flesh  was  not  really  standing  at  her 
elbow.  Then  she  shut  off  the  key — that  wonderful 

15 


RECORD  NO.  33 


tiny  key — that  had  started  the  Professor  talking  and 
her  heart  to  beating  in  a  way  that  it  never  had  beat 
before.  She  looked  at  the  black  record  and  exam- 
ined the  tiny  needle  that  traced  in  so  mysterious  a 
fashion  the  words  of  the  "cultured  French  Pro- 
fessor" as  he  spoke  to  her.  Surely,  these  sentences 
from  his  lips  must  have  been  meant  in  some  very 
strange  and  wonderful  way  just  for  her.  And  yet 
had  she  not  selected  the  record  at  random?  And 
how  could  he  have  known  that  she  was  lonely,  and 
that  she  longed  for  sympathy  and  solicitation  as  she 
sat  there  all  alone  in  her  sitting-room  night  after 
night? 

She  took  up  another  record  at  random  and  slipped 
it  carefully  on  the  machine.  Then  again  she  pushed 
the  magic  lever  that  brought  the  "cultured  French 
Professor"  to  her.  Just  a  brief  moment  of  whirring 
and  buzzing  and  then  once  more  the  deep  voice  of 
the  French  Professor  was  speaking  to  her  in  her 
mother's  beloved  tongue. 

"Faites  comme  vous  voudrez,"  he  began,  as  if  to 
reassure  her  that  there  was  no  one  to  censure  her,  no 
one  to  blame.  How  splendid  of  him  to  come  with 
these  words  of  sympathy  at  this  time  when  her  con- 
science had  been  hurting  her  about  the  reckless  ex- 
penditure of  money  to  gratify  what  had  seemed  to 
be  a  mere  whim !  But  the  little  needle  was  moving 

16 


AMELIE'S  CATHEDRAL  GARDEN 

mysteriously  over  the  record.  What  was  he  saying 
now? 

"Faites  aux  autres  ce  que  vous  voudriez  qu'on 
vous  fit."  (Do  unto  others  as  you  would  that  they 
should  do  unto  you.)  And  now  was  he  not  giving 
her  back  the  rule  of  her  own  life  and  reminding  her 
that  if  she  lived  by  that  rule  the  rest  would  not 
matter? 

When  Amelie  Trent  opened  up  that  box  in  her 
little  sitting-room  that  night  she  opened  up  a  new 
world  for  herself.  Bluebell  seemed  sleeping  more 
soundly  than  usual,  the  clock  still  ticked  on  indiffer- 
ently and  she  sat  on,  unconscious  of  time,  listening, 
fascinated  and  almost  infatuated  with  the  voice  of 
the  "cultured  French  Professor"  as  he  spoke  to  her 
from  the  queer  black  records. 

And  when  at  last  she  tried  to  sleep  and  disagree- 
able thoughts  of  the  responsibility  of  a  secret  an- 
noyed her,  she  heard  again  in  half  a  dream  the  deep, 
sympathetic  voice  of  the  French  Professor  as  he 
said  in  her  listening  ear,  "Do  as  you  please,  there  is 
no  one  to  censure." 

Amelie  did  not  go  out  the  next  day,  which  was 
Saturday,  for  she  had  a  queer  feeling  that  there  was 
company  in  the  house  and  that  she  couldn't  leave. 
Rising  early,  she  cleared  away  all  traces  of  the  pack- 
ings and  the  box.  Then  she  arranged  a  shelf  in  the 

17 


RECORD  NO.  33 


closet  of  her  sitting-room  and  assigned  it  to  the  Pro- 
fessor for  his  very  own.  She  was  very  glad  indeed 
that  the  rain  poured  steadily  all  day,  and  that  it  kept 
the  neighbors  from  dropping  in  as  they  might  other- 
wise have  done. 

All  during  the  day  at  intervals  she  would  go  to  the 
closet  shelf,  push  the  magic  lever,  and  hear  his  voice, 
which  seemed  clearer  and  more  perfect  each  time  she 
heard  it. 

Once  he  said  in  his  perfect  French,  "I  must  ask 
your  permission  to  go  away.  I  have  several  matters 
of  business  to  attend  to." 

For  a  swift  moment,  so  real  had  the  voice  become 
to  her,  she  felt  strange.  No,  he  couldn't  go — she 
couldn't  spare  him!  And  then  she  laughed  at  her 
own  foolish  fancy  and  said  right  back  to  him  in  the 
merriest  little  way: 

"You  frightened  me.  I  thought  for  the  moment 
that  you  were  really  going." 

The  days  that  followed  were  strangely  happy  ones 
for  Amelie,  and  if  her  life  seemed  to  flow  on  in  its 
usual  currents,  it  was  to  her  only  the  surface  flow. 
More  real,  more  vital,  more  human  than  anything 
else  now  was  the  voice  of  her  French  Professor.  It 
seemed  like  a  strong,  swift  undertow  that  was  sweep- 
ing her  soul  out  to  the  unknown  sea.  In  the  daytime 
she  welcomed  opportunities  to  slip  to  the  closet  shelf, 

18 


AMELIE'S  CATHEDRAL  GARDEN 

touch  the  tiny  lever  and  hear  again  the  words  which 
even  now  meant  so  much  to  her.  And  if  she  was 
sewing  she  would  listen  as  she  stitched,  for  the  voice 
was  plain,  if  not  so  clear,  even  at  a  distance. 

In  more  ways  than  one  she  had  been  given  to 
understand  that  the  neighbors  were  still  waiting  for 
her  to  tell  them  what  that  box  had  contained.  Ordi- 
narily such  gossip  would  have  disturbed  her,  but  now 
it  seemed  of  little  moment.  There  was  something  so 
personal,  so  sacred  to  her  about  the  French  Pro- 
fessor that  she  knew  that  she  could  never  share  him 
with  anyone.  She  shuddered  to  think  of  having  the 
Professor  speak  to  unanswering  and  unappreciative 
ears  as  he  had  spoken  to  hers! 

There  was  something  almost  superhuman  in  the 
way  in  which  he  said  the  things  to  her  that  she  most 
wanted  to  hear,  and  she  grew  to  believe  that  there 
was  some  mysterious  force  somewhere,  somehow — 
at  work  far  back  of  the  mechanism  that  brought  this 
strange,  appealing  voice  to  her  ear. 

Especially  dear  to  her  were  those  precious  evening 
hours  when,  after  every  light  on  the  hill  had  gone 
out,  she  would  take  the  machine  from  its  place  on 
the  closet  shelf  and  listen  to  the  Professor  as  long 
as  she  liked.  Never  did  she  grow  tired  and  always 
she  put  the  little  box  away  reluctantly  when  she 
realized  that  the  night  was  far  spent. 

19 


RECORD  NO.  S3 


At  last  she  began  to  understand  what  it  was  that 
she  had  always  wanted  and  needed.  And  she  was 
grateful  that  in  her  loveless  life  this  at  last  had  come 
to  her,  as  if  from  a  far-off  land,  only  a  shadow  of 
the  real  thing  she  had  craved,  yet  a  shadow  that 
seemed  to  beckon  her  on.  Far  more  real  it  was  than 
anything  she  had  ever  known,  and  to  her  starved 
spirit  the  shadow  began  to  assume  form  and  shape, 
to  live  and  breathe,  to  call  to  her  waiting  soul. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE    IMPRISONED   VOICE 

THE  Trents — her  father's  people — had  lived 
in  and  about  Merryville  for  generations,  but 
Amelie  had  been  transplanted  from  Louisi- 
ana where  she  had  been  born  of  a  French  mother 
now  nearly  thirty  years  ago. 

Like  a  bright,  beautiful  dream  those  days  of  her 
childhood  seemed,  and  indeed  they  had  been  short 
enough,  for,  when  she  was  still  a  small  child,  her 
mother  died  and  her  life  for  a  long  stretch  of  years 
afterward  was  spent  in  a  boarding-school. 

The  things  she  remembered  most  vividly  concern- 
ing those  years  were  only  indirectly  connected  with 
herself;  the  burning  of  the  building  and  the  excite- 
ment incident  to  the  event,  the  suicide  of  one  girl 
acquaintance  and  the  runaway  marriage  of  another. 
Nothing  came  very  close  to  her  then  and  nothing 
sounded  the  depths  of  her  soul.  Her  father  was  a 
serious  man  who  had  lost  his  grip  on  things.  When 
he  married  her  mother  he  was  many  years  her  senior 

21 


RECORD  NO.  S3 


and  business  reverses  and  sorrows  had  already  taken 
the  zest  out  of  his  life.  Once  in  a  while,  when 
Amelie  was  at  school,  he  came  to  see  her,  and  oc- 
casionally, in  vacation  time,  he  had  taken  her  to 
Merryville  to  see  her  aunt,  Mary  Trent,  his  only 
sister. 

With  what  peculiar  force  and  pain  one  vivid  mem- 
ory of  that  awful  first  day  at  school  came  back  to 
her  now.  Again  she  seemed  to  be  standing  in  the 
deep  gloom  of  the  lofty  old  parlors  of  the  school  in 
the  presence  of  the  principal  and  a  teacher  who 
looked  even  more  formidable  and  distant.  Jarring 
sounds  from  a  score  of  pianos  grated  upon  her  sen- 
sitive ears.  She  had  herself  just  come  from  one  of 
those  practice-room  prisons,  where  her  five-finger 
exercises  had  also  blended  with  "Poet  and  Peasant" 
and  "Maiden's  Prayer."  Again  she  heard  the  clang 
of  the  heartless  old  bell  as  it  introduced  her  to  the 
system  and  routine  that  she  was  so  soon  to  abhor. 
Again  she  saw  giggling  girls,  in  groups  of  twos  and 
threes  and  fours,  pass  the  wide  doors,  peep  slyly  in, 
and  clap  their  hands  over  their  mouths  as  they  caught 
sight  of  the  stern  teachers  standing  in  caucus  over 
her  poor  frightened  little  figure.  Then,  across  the 
distance  and  the  years,  again  she  heard  the  half- 
jesting  words  of  the  principal,  spoken,  as  she  deliv- 
ered her,  body  and  soul,  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy : 

22 


THE  IMPRISONED  VOICE 


"I  trust  you  will  have  no  trouble  with  her,  Miss 
Browne.  She  seems  nervous  and  high-strung  and 
unhappy,"  and  then  she  added  in  a  whisper  that  was 
not  intended  for  the  sharp  little  ears  that  caught  the 
words,  "She  has  no  assets  that  I  can  discern  beyond 
a  Rossetti  face,  a  sense  of  rhythm  and  a  family  tree," 
and  both  women  laughed,  hardly  and  coldly  it  is 
true,  but  as  much  as  they  ever  laughed. 

The  whole  incident  was  silhouetted  against  the 
background  of  those  school  years  that  followed  as 
sharply  as  the  lanky  figure  of  Minnie  Martin  was 
outlined  against  the  prim  white  cottage  at  the  brow 
of  the  hill  that  moment!  And  those  last  words  of 
the  principal,  as  she  gave  her  into  Miss  Browne's 
keeping,  they  also  were  as  clear  on  that  Spring  morn- 
ing as  was  the  high  falsetto  voice  singing  from  the 
cottage  at  the  brow  of  the  hill,  "Will  There  Be  Any 
Stars  in  My  Crown?" 

Frail  little  soul,  sensitive  and  delicate  as  a  rose- 
leaf  blown  from  its  moorings  on  the  mother  stem, 
how  helpless  it  was  against  the  cyclone  of  circum- 
stance that  had  cast  it  there ! 

Little  did  she  understand  the  words  of  the  princi- 
pal that  morning,  but  she  afterward  came  to  know 
that  she  had  something  more  than  "a  Rossetti  face, 
a  sense  of  rhythm  and  a  family  tree."  She  had  a 
rebellious  spirit  that  was  held  in  check  simply  be- 

23 


RECORD  NO.  33 


cause  nothing  tempted  her  very  strongly,  a  sensitive 
soul  that  felt  few  stings  only  because  things  did  not 
come  close  enough  to  her  to  hurt,  and  an  independent 
nature  that  did  not  assert  itself  then,  because  in  the 
ready-made  life  that  was  handed  out  to  her  she  never 
had  a  chance. 

When  the  teachers  sent  for  her  and  told  her  that 
her  father  was  dead,  she  remembered  feeling  numb 
and  helpless  and  strange,  but  not  deeply  grieved. 
She  missed  his  periodical  letters  and  the  anticipation 
of  seeing  him  again,  but  that  was  all. 

Things  were  somewhat  clouded  for  her  about  that 
time  and  she  never  knew  exactly  what  happened  ex- 
cept that  Aunt  Mary  had  furnished  the  money  for 
the  remainder  of  her  years  at  school. 

Then  came  those  exciting  last  days  of  her  school 
life,  and  above  all  the  final  one  when  she  stood  with 
a  dozen  other  girls  and  received  her  diploma.  That 
was  another  day  she  could  never  forget.  Girls  were 
weeping  out  their  good-byes  on  each  other's  necks; 
wagons  loaded  with  trunks  were  rattling  on  the  cob- 
blestones; proud  mothers  and  fathers  and  sisters 
and  brothers,  who  had  come  to  claim  their  own,  were 
laughing  and  talking  and  hurrying  their  daughters 
and  sisters  off  to  the  trains.  The  scent  of  many 
flowers  was  in  the  air,  and  in  the  doorway  of  the 
grim  old  parlors,  now  half  awake  with  a  mock  gay- 

24 


THE  IMPRISONED  VOICE 


ety  that  they  could  not  really  assume,  were  the  prin- 
cipals and  the  teachers,  stiff  and  smiling  in  their  new 
commencement  gowns. 

Amelie  sat  almost  forgotten  in  a  big  armchair 
over  in  a  corner  of  the  hall,  and  she  hugged  a  huge 
bunch  of  roses  which  Vance  Carroll  had  sent  her 
the  day  before.  Not  that  she  was  so  devoted  to 
Vance  Carroll,  although  she  had  met  him  at  several 
receptions  and  he  had  been  as  nice  to  her  as  rules 
would  permit,  but  because  his  flowers  saved  her 
from  the  embarrassment  of  receiving  none  at  all. 

Frequently  one  of  the  girls  would  stop  to  say 
good-bye  or  to  introduce  her  to  some  member  of  her 
family  or  to  a  friend,  for  Amelie  was  winsome  and 
sweet  and  everyone  liked  her.  But  she  felt  far  away 
from  it  all,  and  she  realized  that  the  girls  had  kindly 
refrained  from  asking  her  concerning  her  plans  for 
the  future,  because  they  knew  she  had  none. 

On  other  commencement  days  she  had  sat  thus  and 
watched  the  same  kind  of  scenes  with  as  little  inter- 
est, and  this  commencement  differed  from  the  others 
only  because  it  was  her  last,  and  because  she  was 
waiting  for  the  next  block  of  years  to  be  staked  off 
for  her. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  this  strange,  exciting  day 
that  she  found  herself  looking  over  the  polished 
library  table  into  the  face  of  the  principal.  With 

25 


RECORD  NO.  33 


some  curiosity,  though  with  little  vital  interest,  she 
waited.  Then  her  heart  warmed  a  little  as  she  saw 
the  look  of  kindly  interest  that  seemed  to  come  into 
the  tired  but  stern  face  of  the  principal,  who  seemed 
trying  to  make  this  last  talk  as  painless  as  possible. 

In  more  gentle  tones  than  she  usually  spoke,  the 
principal  told  her  that  the  time  had  come  for  her  to 
leave  the  school;  that  she  was  without  means,  and 
that  the  school's  responsibility  for  her  welfare  ended 
with  her  graduation.  Then  she  placed  in  her  hand 
a  check  from  her  Aunt  Mary,  with  a  letter.  That 
lady  wrote  that  this  would  help  her  until  she  could 
get  a  position  to  teach,  and  that  if  she  really  needed 
more  she  could  let  her  know.  And  there  was  a  post- 
script which  said  that  times  were  hard  in  Kentucky 
and  crops  had  not  been  good. 

The  principal  then  handed  her  another  letter, 
which  she  read  mechanically.  The  writer  stated  that 
a  teacher  was  needed  for  a  rural  school.  The  prin- 
cipal had  recommended  her,  and  strongly  advised 
her  to  go,  since  this  was  really  the  only  thing  she 
could  do.  There  was  to  be  a  Summer  session  which 
would  mean  immediate  employment,  and  this  time 
she  was  sentenced  for  five  years — five  dull,  unevent- 
ful years. 

Then  chance  did  deal  the  cards  and  help  her  out. 
For  this  she  was  grateful.  She  found  herself  pos- 

26 


THE  IMPRISONED  VOICE 


sessed  of  the  old  homestead  in  Kentucky  where  her 
father  had  been  born.  This  came  to  her  through 
the  death  of  her  Aunt  Mary,  and  it  was  her  wish  that 
her  niece  should  come  to  Kentucky  to  live. 

When  had  she  been  permitted  to  choose  what  she 
would  do  ? 

When  she  stood  in  the  gloomy  old  parlors  that 
first  morning  of  her  life  at  school,  a  child  of  nine, 
there  were  dealt  out  to  her  ten  years  of  her  life, 
years  as  colorless  and  changeless  and  inevitable  as 
if  they  had  been  a  prison  sentence. 

At  nineteen,  there  was  no  shuffling  of  the  cards, 
and  then  even  chance  was  not  allowed  to  take  its 
fling  and  help  her  out.  A  picked  hand  was  given 
her,  and  she  was  told  to  play  on. 

In  only  one  thing  could  she  remember  to  have 
had  her  way.  She  positively  made  up  her  mind  after 
Aunt  Mary's  affairs  had  been  settled  that  she  would 
not  live  in  that  big,  lonely,  dismal  old  Trent  home, 
in  its  setting  of  mournful  cedars.  She  overruled 
Mr.  Cartwright,  her  business  advisor  and  adminis- 
trator of  her  aunt's  estate,  and  she  built  a  cozy  little 
home  to  suit  her  own  fancy  on  part  of  the  spacious 
lot  adjoining  the  big  house,  which  was  easily  rented. 

Merryville  looked  upon  the  carrying  out  of  these 
plans  with  a  shake  of  the  head  and  certainly  not 
with  approval.  "They"  said  she  was  "curious,"  and 

27 


RECORD  NO.  33 


some  said  it  was  the  French  cropping  out.  But  if 
Merryville  talked  about  her,  Merryville  neverthe- 
less surrendered  wholly  to  her  fascinating  manners 
and  pretty  face. 

After  the  house  was  completed,  Amelie  went  back 
to  her  Louisiana  home,  and  from  among  relatives 
and  friends,  here  and  there,  she  gathered  what  was 
left  of  her  mother's  furniture  and  pictures,  and  even 
some  of  her  treasured  trinkets.  Also  she  found 
Aunt  Narcisse,  one  of  the  old  servants,  who  con- 
sented to  return  with  her  to  Kentucky. 

Tucked  away  back  in  her  nature  somewhere  she 
had  always  felt  a  strange  longing  for  home,  and  so 
it  was  no  wonder  that,  when  she  came  at  last  to 
choose  her  lot,  she  made  this  cozy  little  nest  for  her- 
self. 

For  a  year  or  two  she  was  too  much  occupied  to 
analyze,  too  busy  to  realize  the  vacancies,  the  limita- 
tions of  her  new  life.  And  then  she  did  realize, 
vaguely  it  is  true,  that  there  was  a  part  of  her  being 
that  could  not  find  expression  in  the  little  house  filled 
as  it  was  with  hallowed  memories  and  loved  asso- 
ciations, nor  even  in  the  garden  with  its  perpetual 
arrivings  and  departures.  And  with  this  realization 
had  come  the  Professor,  with  that  strangely  human 
quality  in  his  imprisoned  voice — the  Professor  who 
seemed  to  know,  in  some  dim,  mysterious  way,  the 

28 


THE  IMPRISONED  VOICE 


answer  to  the  cry  within  her,  though  he  could  only 
call  to  her  as  from  a  prison  cell. 

Sitting  there  in  the  bright  Spring  sunshine  that 
morning,  she  felt  guilty  and  confused,  almost  un- 
happy. Jeanne's  innocent  remark  had  set  her  to 
thinking  along  new  lines,  had  made  her  see  herself  in 
a  new  light. 

As  was  her  custom  when  her  heart  was  troubled, 
Amelie  thought  of  Aunt  Narcisse,  her  mother's 
friend  and  the  "black  Mammy"  of  her  baby  days, 
and  she  bent  her  head  under  the  budding  crepe  myrtle 
tree  at  the  end  of  the  porch  and  went  around  the  cot- 
tage to  where  one  of  the  quaint  old  antebellum  cab- 
ins of  the  Trent  farm  stood. 

"I'm  goin'  ax  little  Miss,"  she  heard  Aunt  Nar- 
cisse saying,  "I  ain'  nuvver  paid  de  Trents  no  min' 
myse'f,  en  I  ain'  keerin'  nothin'  'bout  'em  nohow.  I 
wuz  minded  to  honor  'em  jes'  caze  my  Mistiss  wuz 
so  onlucky  ez  to  marry  one." 

"No  'fense  'tended,  Sis  Dupre — no  'fense 
'tended,"  came  back  in  patronizing  tones,  and  a  high 
pitched  trembling  voice,  and  Amelie  knew  that  the 
old  feud  was  on  between  Aunt  Narcisse  and  her 
guest  Aunt  Mirandy,  whom  she  derisively  called  a 
"Trent  nigger."  Aunt  Mirandy,  a  famous  character 
in  Merryville,  was  just  taking  her  departure,  and 
Amelie  spoke  to  her  kindly. 

29 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"Are  you  still  taking  care  of  the  churches?"  she 
asked. 

"Lord,  honey,  yes,"  replied  Aunt  Mirandy,  "I 
ben  er  cleanin'  up  de  Pres'tee'n  church  fer  de  white 
folks  thirty-nine  year,  come  nex'  Augus',  en  de  Bap- 
tis'  church,  I  ben  er  cleanin'  hit  up  ever  sence  old 
man  Mose  Peters  died  nigh  'bout  thirty  year  ago." 

Aunt  Mirandy  had  just  come  from  a  funeral  and 
was  dressed  in  her  best.  A  fringe  of  perfectly 
straight  black  hair  was  pinned  conspicuously  around 
her  shining  black  face  and  stood  out  under  the  very 
small,  very  dilapidated  bonnet  which  was  perched  on 
the  top  of  her  head.  She  wore  a  stiff,  high  collar 
with  an  elaborate  lace  jabot  and  a  long  watch-chain 
of  solid  gold,  the  gift,  as  she  said,  of  "her  white 
folks."  Her  beady  black  eyes  looked  out  from  a 
pair  of  heavy  gold  spectacle  rims.  "I  done  knocked 
de  lights  out'n  dese  her'  goggle-eye  specks,  ter  keep 
me  frum  breakin'  my  fool  neck,"  she  frequently  ex- 
plained. She  was  moving  away  rather  majestically 
when  Aunt  Narcisse  observed  sympathetically, 

"Hit's  jes'  too  bad  yer  so  busy  cleanin'  up  de  white 
folks'  churches,  yer  don'  nuvver  git  to  hear  de  gos- 
pel. We  sho'  is  got  er  powerf'l  man  fer  'spoundin' 
de  script' rs  down  at  de  Rock  City  Church." 

Aunt  Mirandy  turned  suddenly  in  her  tracks  and 
her  eyes  snapped  behind  the  circles  of  gold. 

30 


THE  IMPRISONED  VOICE 


"I  hears  it,  Sis  Dupre,"  she  said  sharply,  "I  hears 
de  Word  uv  God  frum  de  white  preachers,  sech  ez 
dey  is.  Co'se  it  ain't  like  hearin'  it  frum  my  own 
color,  but  I  has  ter  take  it  de  way  de  Lord  sends  it. 
Well,  good-day,  Mistiss — good-day,  Sis  Dupre,"  and 
she  sailed  off. 

"Dem  Trent  niggers  is  mighty  highfalutin — I  don' 
keer  nothin'  'bout  none  uv  'em,  I  don',"  said  Aunt 
Narcisse  as  she  drew  up  the  low,  split-bottom  chair 
in  which  Amelie  always  sat. 

"I  hope  you  and  Aunt  Mirandy  were  not  having 
any  words,"  said  Amelie,  who  strongly  suspected 
that  the  relative  virtues  of  the  Trents  and  the  Du- 
pres,  her  mother's  people,  had  been  the  topic  of  con- 
versation, and  that,  as  usual,  there  had  been  strong 
disagreements  between  the  colored  representatives 
of  the  respective  families. 

"Don'  know  ez  y'd  call  it  words,"  replied  Aunt 
Narcisse,  "but  we  wuz  argifyin'  'bout  dem  Trents. 
She  'lowed  dey  wuz  er  good-lookin'  race  er  people ; 
and  I  'lowed  de  good  looks  in  our  fambly  all  come 
frum  de  Dupres,  yer  little  maw's  side — en  de  did." 
As  she  finished  speaking,  Aunt  Narcisse  looked  in- 
tently and  somewhat  resentfully  at  a  picture  of  six 
well-known  American  poets,  neatly  framed,  that  had 
the  place  of  honor  above  her  wide  fireplace.  Find- 
ing it  in  the  attic  of  the  old  Trent  home  one  day,  she 


RECORD  NO.  33 


brought  it  to  Amelia  with  a  special  request  that  she 
be  allowed  to  hang  it  in  her  room.  Although  she 
could  not  understand  why  such  a  picture  could  hold 
any  interest  for  her,  Amelie  gave  consent. 

"Little  Miss,"  and  Aunt  Narcisse  was  still  gazing 
thoughtfully  at  the  "yard  of  poets,"  "I  wants  ter  ax 
yer  som'thin' — I  wants  to  ax  yer  ter  settle  er  'spute 
'twixt  me  en  Sis  Clendennin',"  and  she  spoke  with 
great  solemnity. 

"I'll  certainly  tell  you  if  I  know,"  replied  Amelie, 
filled  with  curiosity  now. 

"Well,  what  I  wants  to  ax  yer  is  dis:  Is  dat 
pitcher,"  and  she  pointed  a  black,  wrinkled  finger 
above  the  mantel,  "a  pitcher  uv  six  uv  de  Trent  men 
folks,  er  ain't  it?" 

Amelie  could  scarcely  speak  for  laughing.  "Why, 
no,  Aunt  Narcisse,"  she  said.  "They  are  just  men 
who  wrote  books  and  things,  you  know.  They  are 
not  Trents,  not  one  of  them." 

An  expression  of  mingled  surprise  and  disappoint- 
ment came  into  the  black  face.  "Well,"  she  said 
half-regretfully,  "en  yer  say  dey  ain'  no  kin  ter  yer 
paw's  folks?"  and  there  seemed  to  be  still  some  lin- 
gering doubt  in  her  mind. 

"Not  a  bit  of  kin  to  the  Trents,"  repeated  Amelie 
positively.  "And  have  you  really  thought  they  were 
all  this  time?" 

32 


THE  IMPRISONED  VOICE 


Aunt  Narcisse  grew  very  serious  again. 

"I  made  sho'  dat  pitcher,"  and  she  pointed  almost 
reproachfully  this  time  at  the  poets,  "wuz  er  pitcher 
uv  yo'  daddy's  daddy  en  his  daddy,  en  four  uv  dey 
daddies'  daddies.  I  'lowed  dat  good-lookin'  'n  look- 
ing down,"  and  she  pointed  solemnly  at  Emerson's 
pleasant  face,  "wuz  yo'  daddy's  daddy  en  I  'lowed 
dat'n  nex'  ter  him  wuz  his  daddy,  en  I  made  sho' 
dat'n  wid  de  long,  white  beard  wuz  de  daddy  uv  em 
all,"  and  she  pointed  this  time  at  the  venerable 
Bryant. 

Amelie  forgot  her  disquieting  thoughts  of  a  few 
moments  before  and  she  buried  her  face  in  the  ample 
lap  of  Aunt  Narcisse  and  laughed  hysterically.  Aunt 
Narcisse  talked  on. 

"Sis  Clendennin'  'lowed  none  uv  dem  men  wuz 
Trents,"  she  said,  "en  she  'lowed  I  wuz  er  callin'  'em 
out'n  dey  names.  Well,"  and  she  gave  a  meaning 
grunt,  "I  bet  'f  er  body  did  have  er  pas'le  er  pitchers 
uv  Trents  dey'd  be  powerful  onery  lookin'.  Git  up, 
honey,  lemme  take  dis  her'  pitcher  down  an'  hang 
Marse  Abe  Lincoln  up  dar.  Sis  Clendennin'  won't 
'spute  his  'den'ty  I  reckon." 

It  was  after  Aunt  Narcisse  had  lit  a  cheery,  crack- 
ling fire  in  her  cozy  little  sitting-room  "to  take  de 
chill  off,"  as  she  had  said,  and  she  had  finished  her 
tea,  that  Amelie's  spirit  was  again  perturbed.  Some- 

33 


RECORD  NO.  33 


how  there  was  that  new  little  pain  gnawing  at  her 
heart  again. 

"To  take  the  chill  off,"  she  repeated  half  faintly, 
"that's  what  I  want.  But  to  think  that  they  think 
that  I  have  been  disappointed  in  love,"  and  Amelie 
laughed  outright  in  spite  of  her  mood. 

Twilight  deepened  into  evening  and  still  she  sat 
there  in  the  shadows  with  the  leaping  firelight  play- 
ing over  her  face. 

"First,  there  was  Vance  Carroll,"  she  said,  count- 
ing on  her  fingers.  "The  night  I  met  him  he  talked 
to  me  exclusively  and  there  was  something  about 
him  I  liked."  Then  she  thought  of  valentines,  and 
Christmas  candy,  and  polite  invitations  which  she 
was  obliged  to  refuse.  And  then  of  the  flowers  and 
the  short  parting  at  the  train  the  day  she  left,  and  at 
last  the  invitation  to  his  wedding  that  came  a  few 
months  later. 

"I  might  have  loved  you,  Vance,"  she  said,  and 
she  was  as  winsome  and  as  smiling  as  if  she  had  been 
looking  into  his  eyes,  "but  they  didn't  give  me  a 
chance." 

She  separated  another  slender  finger  from  the 
rest.  "I  suppose  I'll  have  to  count  the  Doctor  as 
number  two,"  she  said,  "but  he  was  all  musty  with 
learning  and  he  was  old,  and  foolish,  and  funny, 
and  I  certainly  didn't  love  him." 

34 


THE  IMPRISONED  VOICE 


And  thus,  far  into  the  night,  she  sat  and  thought 
of  all  the  men  she  had  known,  dwelling  especially  on 
one  who  had  been  her  friend  during  the  time  she 
taught  in  the  obscure  country  school.  Only  that  day 
he  had  written  and  asked  for  the  twentieth  time  to 
come  to  see  her.  But  only  that  day  for  the  twentieth 
time  she  had  refused.  How  thankful  she  was  to- 
night that  she  had  refused  and  that  Minnie  Martin 
had  at  least  been  deprived  of  that  choice  morsel. 

Merryville  could  boast  of  at  least  two  eligible 
bachelors,  to  say  nothing  of  several  widowers,  and 
each  of  them  had  made  some  sort  of  an  effort  to 
show  her  attention.  She  was  the  center  of  attrac- 
tion wherever  she  went,  but  she  was  persistently  in- 
different. Was  this  the  reason  they  had  talked  about 
her,  then,  simply  because  she  had  given  them  nothing 
to  hang  on? 

"I  am  lonely,"  she  said  as  she  stirred  at  last  from 
the  depths  of  the  big  chair,  "and  I  didn't  know  how 
lonely  until  to-night." 


CHAPTER    III 
"THE  FATHER  OF  JULIUS" 

COMMENT  vous  portez-vous  aujourd'  hui?" 
(How  are  you  to-day?) 

Amelie  shut  off  the  lever  quickly  and 
started  as  if  it  had  shocked  her.  Then  she 
closed  her  eyes  and  clasped  her  hands  and  sat 
quite  still.  A  perfect  repose  settled  softly  over  her 
spirit,  and  she  seemed  to  feel  no  weight  whatever 
of  her  physical  being.  Only  that  strange,  living, 
breathing,  wistful  something  she  called  her  soul 
seemed  to  be  awake. 

"I  seem  to  see  you  now,"  she  said,  and  her  voice 
was  mellow  and  far  off.  Unconsciously  she  lifted 
her  fair  face  and  stretched  out  her  hands,  and  the 
voice,  infinitely  soft  and  tender,  went  on,  "and  I 
think  that  somewhere,  somehow,  you  must  know 
how  dear  it  is  to  me  to  come  home  tired  and  lonely 
and  to  hear  you  say,  'Comment  vous  portez-vous 
aujourd'  hui?'  It  has  been  so  long,  so  very  long, 
since  I  had  anyone  to  care  how  I  feel — to  know 

36 


"THE  FATHER  OF  JULIUS' 


whether  I  am  tired  or  not."  And  far  back  over  the 
stretch  of  the  years,  and  across  the  distance,  she 
seemed  to  feel  the  touch  of  her  mother's  spirit. 

For  just  another  moment  she  kept  the  memory  of 
the  dear,  sympathetic  voice  with  her  and  held  it  in 
her  heart,  and  then  she  rubbed  her  eyes  and  sat 
up  and  laughed  in  her  own  natural,  merry  little 
way. 

"How  very  foolish  of  me,"  she  said,  quite  nat- 
urally now,  "to  be  getting  really  fond  of  a  Professor 
in  a  machine.  How  you  yourself  would  laugh  if  you 
only  knew,"  and  she  leaned  over  and  looked  at  the 
silent  machine  much  as  she  might  have  looked  into  a 
human  face.  And  then,  for  a  moment,  the  dream 
floated  in  again  over  her  senses  and  obscured  the 
actualities  of  the  room.  The  soft,  far-away  tone 
crept  back  into  her  voice,  and  radiant  lights  shone 
again  in  her  eyes  as  she  said,  plaintively: 

"I  wonder  where  you  are  to-night,  and  what  you 
are  doing,  and — I  do  wish  I  could  know  how  you 
look." 

The  physical  contact  with  the  mechanism  seemed 
to  rob  her  dream  of  its  soul,  and  this  time  she 
touched  the  lever  lightly,  nervously.  There  was  a 
little  whirring  and  buzzing,  and  then, 

"Xe  plaisantez  pas,"  the  Professor  was  saying, 
and  she  fancied  now  she  discovered  a  shade  of  ten- 

37 


RECORD  NO.  33 


der  reproach  in  the  voice.  uje  ne  sens  pas  d'humeur 
a  rire."  (Pray  don't  joke.  I  don't  feel  like  jok- 
ing-) 

Amelie   started.      Was   this   merely   a   machine? 

How  very  human  it  seemed  to-night!  Involuntarily 
she  looked  at  the  familiar  objects  around  the  room, 
but  they  seemed  like  shadows  and  gave  back  no  im- 
pression of  the  actual. 

Far  down  the  street  she  heard  the  town  clock 
leisurely  tolling  out  the  hour.  She  counted — ten — 
eleven — twelve,  and  a  glance  at  her  clock  verified 
the  report.  Far  away  and  faint  she  heard  the  crow- 
ing of  a  chicken,  and  here  and  there,  now  near,  now 
far,  the  answering  call.  About  the  neat  little  room, 
with  its  white  matted  floor  and  its  pink-and-white 
denim  coverings,  the  scene  was  the  same  as  it  had 
been  for  years.  Over  under  the  double  windows  that 
opened  on  the  little  front  porch  was  the  couch  with 
its  denim  cover  and  its  downy  pillows.  In  one  cor- 
ner some  bookshelves,  filled  and  overflowing,  and 
near  them  her  mother's  old  mahogany  table  with  one 
leaf  turned  up.  In  the  center  of  this  was  the  lamp, 
clean  and  shining  with  its  milk-white  china  shade, 
and  near  it  a  little  vase  of  violets.  There  was  the 
picture  of  her  mother  painted  when  she  was  sixteen. 
The  dainty  fichu  at  the  slender  throat  was  clasped 
by  a  miniature  of  her  own  grandmother,  a  memento 

38 


"THE  FATHER  OF  JULIUS" 

which  Amelie  possessed  and  which  she  prized  far 
above  all  other  earthly  things.  Here  was  "The 
Temptation,"  that  marvelous  conception  of  Schef- 
fer's  before  which  she  stood  many  times,  wondering 
and  almost  afraid  of  something,  she  never  knew  just 
what.  There  was  something  deeply  impressive, 
something  vast  and  tragic  in  the  bare,  rocky  waste  of 
the  mountain  top  that  forms  the  entire  scene  of  ac- 
tion, with  the  exception  of  a  glimpse  in  the  distance 
of  the  kingdom  of  glory  and  of  the  world,  which 
Satan  offers  with  a  gesture,  to  Christ.  A  print  of 
"The  Angelus"  she  especially  loved,  and  dearer  even 
than  this  was  "Hope"  with  its  single  star  gleaming 
faintly  in  the  hazy  blue  of  the  sky. 

To-night  as  she  sat  there  her  eyes  took  in  all  of 
these  things,  but  her  soul  did  not  respond  to  the 
touch  of  the  outward  sense.  Under  the  portrait  of 
her  mother  the  deep  red  coals  burned  fitfully,  and 
out  of  the  depths  of  dying  crimson  witching  little 
flames  were  jumping  and  leaping  about  as  if  they 
were  very  much  amused  at  something,  they  would 
not  tell  what. 

Then  Amelie's  eyes  fell  upon  another  object,  some- 
thing that  seemed  strangely  out  of  place  amid  these 
familiar  things  of  her  childhood — and  yet  now  mys- 
teriously and  indissolubly  linked  with  them — it  was 
the  tiny  machine  standing  at  that  moment  mute  and 

39 


RECORD  NO.  33 


still  on  her  mother's  old  mahogany  candlestand. 
Almost  reproachful  it  seemed  to  her  then,  for  she 
had  stopped  it  quite  abruptly. 

Strange  little  machine!  So  marvelously  human! 
One  little  movement  of  the  lever,  one  slight  touch  of 
her  hand,  and  again  the  French  Professor,  across  the 
measureless  distance,  would  be  speaking  to  her !  She 
might  hear  the  music  of  his  voice  at  will,  and  hearing 
his  voice  she  could  feel  his  presence — she  could  posi- 
tively see  him !  All  of  her  friends,  her  books,  her 
pictures,  her  mother's  precious  belongings  that  she 
had  cherished  for  so  many  years — all  these  were 
dear,  very  dear  to  her  heart,  but  they  were  dumb — 
they  spoke  only  to  her  soul,  they  were  far  away  from 
her  everyday  life  and  when  the  human  in  her  cried 
out  for  sympathy  and  companionship  they  did  not 
answer. 

But  this  new  thing  that  had  come  into  her  life  was 
different.  It  appealed  to  another  part  of  her  being; 
it  almost  answered,  in  some  mysterious  way,  a  hith- 
erto unexpressed  longing  within  the  depths  of  her 
heart.  And  still,  at  times  the  inadequacy  of  the  cold 
machine,  with  its  screws  and  its  levers  and  its  discs, 
annoyed  her.  New  longings  stirred,  there  were  new 
desires,  new  awakenings.  There  were  so  many 
things  she  wanted  to  say  to  the  French  Professor, 
and  still  she  couldn't  talk  back  to  this  inhuman  and 

40 


'THE  FATHER  OF  JULIUS' 


perfectly  deaf  and  lifeless  thing — lifeless,  it  was 
true,  in  itself,  and  yet  how  it  had  made  something 
live  for  her ! 

And  then,  while  her  soul  was  fairly  singing  with 
the  joy  of  some  particularly  tender  little  sentence 
from  his  lips,  and  when  she  had  forgotten  the  ma- 
chine and  its  limitations  for  the  moment,  off  the  voice 
would  start  on  something  wholly  commonplace  and 
uninteresting.  She  seldom  bothered  her  head  or 
cared  about  how  the  queer  black  records  had  done 
their  part,  for  women  like  mystery.  But  no  woman 
really  likes  what  she  can  neither  talk  back  to  nor 
understand. 

She  felt  almost  like  apologizing  sometimes  when 
she  had  shut  the  Professor  off  very  abruptly  just 
after  he  had  said  something  especially  pleasant,  but 
that  was  the  only  way  to  keep  him  from  following 
with  "The  father  of  Julius  has  bought  a  large  boat," 
or  some  other  perfectly  ordinary  and  meaningless 
thing. 

Once  she  said,  "If  I  knew1  where  to  find  Julius  and 
his  father  and  that  boat  I  would  rub  them  out  or  cut 
them  off,  or  get  rid  of  them  some  way."  But  this 
she  did  not  dare  to  do,  for  it  was  on  this  very  record 
that  the  Professor  said, 

"My  dear,  the  weather  is  very  damp  and  you  must 
not  go  out  without  your  wraps,  for  I  should  be  dis- 


RECORD  NO.  33 


tressed  if  you  became  ill" — words  she  dearly  loved 
to  hear  him  say. 

To-night  especially,  the  soullessness  of  the  ma- 
chine chilled  and  harassed  her.  When  the  Professor 
spoke  the  words  she  loved  to  hear  she  felt  a  strange 
impulse  to  break  away,  to  jump  out  of  the  setting 
with  which  she  did  not  harmonize,  to  fade  out  of 
this  picture  into  which  she  had  been  painted  without 
her  consent.  She  was  doing  the  things  every  day 
that  she  particularly  did  not  want  to  do.  She  was 
saying  the  same  old  things  to  the  neighbors  on  the 
same  old  occasions.  She  was  living  just  exactly  as 
she  did  not  want  to  live.  She  was  tired  of  it  all — 
tired  of  giving  off,  of  diffusing  her  personality  con- 
tinually and  getting  nothing  in  return.  The  voice  of 
the  Professor  lured  her — made  her  feel  that  she  had 
been  living  in  a  darkened  room  for  ages,  and  that 
she  was  longing  for  sunlight  and  freedom. 

When  he  spoke  she  felt  as  if  she  were  standing 
before  an  open  door  and  that  he  was  beckoning  her 
to  enter  where  there  was  joy  and  light  and  warmth. 
And  when  she  had  put  the  machine  back  into  its  box 
she  felt  that  she  had  come  back  to  the  dark  room  and 
that  she  was  staring  at  black,  dismal  walls  again. 

With  his  tender,  appealing  voice  in  her  ears  she 
felt  some  indescribable,  indefinable,  irresistible  forces 
tugging  at  her  heart,  and  when  he  was  safely  put 

42 


'THE  FATHER  OF  JULIUS' 


away  and  she  tried  to  sleep  she  found  herself  feeling 
utterly  dejected,  forlorn  and  forgotten.  If  only  he 
were  less  human  or  more  human ! 

The  little  clock  warned  Amelie  that  the  hour  was 
late.  She  stirred  the  dying  fire  and  carefully  re- 
moved the  record  from  the  machine.  Then  she 
weakened  in  her  determination  of  a  moment  before 
to  go  immediately  to  bed  and  decided  that  she  would 
try  one  of  the  records  she  had  not  yet  heard.  True, 
the  book  of  instructions  particularly  cautioned  her 
against  using  the  records  except  in  the  proper  order. 
But  she  did  occasionally  disobey  this  solemn  injunc- 
tion and  try  a  new  one.  Without  looking  at  the 
number  she  slipped  it  on  the  machine.  As  she  did 
so  the  dream  mist  seemed  to  envelop  her  again,  and 
there  was  a  new  tenderness  in  her  voice. 

"You  seem  very,  very  near  to  me  to-night,"  she 
whispered,  "much  nearer  than  usual."  Then  she 
added  even  more  softly,  "And  I  am  simply  crazy  to 
see  you !  I  never  wanted  to  see  you  as  I  have  to- 
night." She  pushed  the  lever.  There  was  the  usual 
whirring  and  buzzing  and  then — listen,  what  was  the 
Professor  saying? 

"J'ai  toujours  remarque  que  les  hommes  etaient 
au  moins  aussi  curieux  que  les  femmes."  (In  my  ex- 
perience I  have  always  found  that  men  are  at  least 
as  curious  as  women.) 

43 


RECORD  NO.  33 


And  then,  "Est-ce  simple  curiosite  ou  desir  de  vous 
instruire?"  (Are  you  simply  curious  or  desirous  of 
information?) 

Why  did  he  say  these  perfectly  natural  things  to 
her?  Now  he  seemed  almost  chiding,  for  had  she 
not  in  truth  forgotten  her  studies — her  "Instruvie"? 

She  stopped  the  machine  and  looked  closely  and 
curiously  at  the  record  to  see  if  she  could  possibly 
discover  just  where  one  sentence  ended  and  another 
began.  But  it  was  of  no  use. 

"I  wish  he  could  know  that  it  is  neither  curiosity 
nor  the  desire  for  information  that  makes  me  long  to 
see  him — it  is  just  because  of  his  voice  and  because 
he  seems  to  understand.  I  know  he  would  under- 
stand if  he  knew."  And  then  she  shut  the  Professor 
up  in  his  box  and  went  to  bed. 

Amelie  had  trouble  next  day  with  her  classes  and 
things  didn't  seem  to  go  just  right.  She  decided  that 
the  trouble  was  with  herself  and  not  with  her  pupils, 
for  she  realized  that  her  heart  was  really  with  the 
Professor  on  the  closet  shelf.  On  her  way  home 
that  afternoon  she  stopped  at  a  dry-goods  store  to 
make  some  purchases  and  she  thought  Mrs.  Adams, 
and  another  woman  whom  she  knew  quite  well,  were 
cool  in  their  greeting  to  her.  But  she  was  too  much 
occupied  with  her  own  thoughts  and  her  own  affairs 
to  give  the  incident  more  than  a  passing  thought. 

44 


THE  FATHER  OF  JULIUS" 


"No,  a  woman  can't  be  too  particular  these  days." 
The  voice  was  Mrs.  Adams',  Minnie  Martin's  best 
friend,  and  it  came  loud  and  clear  from  the  doorway 
of  the  store  where  she  was  lingering  with  her  friend. 
It  fell  upon  Amelie's  ear  with  peculiar  clearness  be- 
cause the  conversation  up  to  that  time  had  been  in 
an  undertone. 

"Especially  a  single  woman,"  finished  her  friend 
significantly,  "and  living  alone."  Just  a  scrap  of  a 
conversation  it  was,  but  it  drifted  in  on  Amelie's 
memory  again  and  again  long  afterwards. 

On  her  way  home  that  evening  she  met  Minnie 
Martin,  whose  sharp  tongue  everyone  feared. 
Amelie  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  home.  She  was  tired 
and  discouraged  and  was  uncomfortable  and  restless. 
Before  leaving  home  that  morning  she  had  put 
Record  No.  5  in  the  machine  so  that  when  she  re- 
turned she  could  hear  the  Professor  say  in  his  per- 
fect French,  "How  are  you  this  evening?  I  hope 
you  are  well.  May  I  sit  on  the  sofa  by  you?" 

But  Minnie  had  no  notion  of  letting  her  go  by. 

"You  haven't  been  a  bit  sociable  of  late,"  she  said 
pointedly,  and  Amelie  felt  a  little  sting  of  her  con- 
science. Deception  was  not  one  of  her  characteris- 
tics— at  least  not  until  the  French  Professor  had 
come — and  she  was  aware  that  every  neighbor  on 
the  hill  had  heard  that  a  box  had  arrived  by  express 

45 


RECORD  NO.  33 


for  her  on  that  fateful  rainy  night  some  weeks  be- 
fore. She  had  also  been  reminded  in  ways  both  sub- 
tle and  pointed  that  she  had  not  let  anyone  know 
what  that  box  had  contained. 

"Well,  I  have  been  very  busy,"  she  said,  deter- 
mined to  make  the  best  of  it  and  not  wishing  to  give 
Minnie  the  faintest  clue,  "and  I  haven't  felt  just  like 
myself  of  late.  I've  taken  up  my  French  studies 
again  and  I  have  become  very  much  absorbed  in 
them." 

"Well,  you  have  plenty  of  time  to  study,"  Minnie 
added,  "for  sittin'  up  all  night  like  you  do  you  could 
learn  a  lot,  I  imagine  if  you'd  just  put  your  mind 
to  it." 

And  after  a  few  more  words  Amelie  walked  on, 
relieved  to  get  away. 

But  Minnie  had  a  final  shot.    She  called  to  her, 

"I  have  heard  several  of  the  neighbors  say  they 
don't  believe  you  ever  go  to  bed  at  night.  There's 
a  good  deal  of  passin'  on  this  road,  you  know,  and 
folks  will  notice  a  light  late  at  night — especially 
when  a  woman  lives  by  herself."  And  then  as  if  she 
had  gone  a  little  too  far,  she  added,  "It  jest  makes 
'em  wonder  if  a  body  is  sick,  you  know,  or  something 
like  that." 

What  was  there  in  Minnie's  words  that  sounded 
like  an  echo  of  her  own  thought,  and  why  did  a 

46 


'THE  FATHER  OF  JULIUS' 


heaviness  hang  over  her  that  she  could  not  account 
for? 

Nevertheless,  the  light  burned  on  until  the  small 
hours  of  the  morning  in  her  little  sitting-room  just 
as  it  had  done  ever  since  the  French  Professor  had 
arrived.  And  also  the  light  burned  on  in  her  soul — 
the  light  of  a  strange  new  fire  that  had  been  gen- 
erated in  her  heart  and  brain  in  some  mysterious 
fashion  through  the  little  machine  on  the  closet  shelf. 
For  had  not  he  told  her:  "Do  as  you  please,  for 
who  is  there  to  censure?" 


CHAPTER    IV 

SOMEBODY   STARTS  A   GHOST   STORY 

AMELIE  thought  she  heard  footsteps  near  the 
sitting-room  window.  A  gentle  rain  was 
falling  and  there  was  a  lingering  chill  in  the 
air  although  it  was  May.  Before  she  brought  out 
the  precious  box  she  carefully  drew  every  blind  and 
locked  the  doors.  The  neighbors  were  asleep,  for  it 
was  past  ten  o'clock.  And  still,  distinctly  again  she 
heard  someone  walking,  and  then,  next  moment,  felt 
quite  sure  that  she  had  heard  whispering  voices. 
Could  it  be  her  imagination?  She  remembered  that 
once,  weeks  before,  she  had  had  the  same  feeling 
that  there  was  someone  near,  looking  at  her,  listen- 
ing to  the  French  Professor.  But  that  night  she 
had  laughed  at  her  own  nervousness  when  Minnie 
Martin  had  knocked  at  the  door  and  asked  if  she 
could  borrow  some  mustard  to  make  a  plaster  for 
old  Mr.  Martin's  chest.  That  was  the  night,  too, 
that  the  Professor  said  with  such  unusual  clearness, 
first  in  French  and  then  in  English,  "I  must  be  going 

48 


SOMEBODY  STARTS  A  GHOST  STORY 

now,  for  it  is  getting  late  and  I  know  you  are  tired," 
and  she  had  laughed  and  answered  back  just  as  if  he 
had  really  been  there  in  the  flesh. 

"If  I  wasn't  quite  sure  that  you  were  coming  again 
very  soon  and  very  often,  I  simply  couldn't  let  you 

go." 

Since  then  that  record  was  one  of  her  favorites 
and  she  always  put  it  in  last  before  she  shut  the  Pro- 
fessor up  for  the  night. 

But  to-night  she  waited  and  listened  a  moment 
after  shutting  the  lever  off  abruptly.  Silence.  No 
one  knocked  at  the  door  and  the  whispering  ceased, 
so  then  she  put  on  another  record  and  resumed  her 
one-sided  conversation  with  the  French  Professor. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  quite  so  loud,"  she  told 
him  playfully  and  confidentially.  "It's  getting  warm 
now  and  the  neighbors  will  be  hearing  you,  because 
I  can't  shut  up  all  the  windows  like  this  in  summer- 
time. And  there's  Aunt  Narcisse — I  am  afraid  she's 
beginning  to  think  me  crazy.  I  know  she's  worried 
about  me,  for  she  said  so  this  morning."  Then  she 
laughed  indulgently  and  added,  "But  never  mind, 
I  shan't  forget  you  and  we  will  keep  on  having  these 
little  talks  even  if  I  have  to  smother." 

When  she  came  home  from  school  next  day  she 
found  Aunt  Narcisse  sitting  on  the  cabin  steps  in 
the  warm  Spring  sunshine,  looking  sullen  and  preoc- 

49 


RECORD  NO.  33 


cupied  and  for  a  while  she  was  extremely  non-com- 
municative. 

"Little  Miss,"  she  said  after  Amelie  had  tried  for 
a  long  time  in  vain  to  interest  her  in  the  happenings 
of  the  day,  "le's  me  and  you  go  home." 

"Go  home,"  repeated  Amelie,  smiling.  "Dear 
Mammy,  you  and  I  haven't  any  home — any  home  but 
this  one.  Are  you  homesick,  too,  Mammy?"  and 
she  put  her  arms  around  the  black  neck  and  laid  her 
head  against  the  shoulder  of  her  old  friend. 

"I'm  tired  uv  dese  yer  folks.  Dat  'oman  up  yon- 
der in  dat  house  on  de  hill,"  and  she  pointed  to 
the  Martin  cottage,  "now,  little  Miss,  she  ain't 
qual'ty." 

"Mrs.  Martin  is  really  all  right,  Mammy,"  replied 
Amelie,  "she  just  never  has  had  a  chance.  I've  al- 
ways heard  that  if  you  take  seven  tadpoles  all  the 
same  age  and  the  same  size  and  put  them  in  seven 
jars,  seven  different  sizes,  that  when  they  are  grown 
they  will  be  seven  different  sizes,  too.  The  tadpole 
that  lived  in  the  smallest  jar  is  sure  to  be  the  smallest 
frog  and  the  one  that  lived  in  the  largest  jar  will  be 
the  largest  frog.  And  it's  much  the  same  with  flow- 
ers. You  know,  Mammy,  if  you  plant  a  flower  in 
poor,  hard  soil,  it  never  does  grow  as  it  would  if  it 
had  a  chance.  Now  Mrs.  Martin  never  has  had  a 
chance.  She  works  hard  and  lives  hard  and  thinks 

50 


SOMEBODY  STARTS  A  GHOST  STORY 

hard  and  feels  hard,  and  I  don't  blame  her  for  be- 
ing like  she  is." 

Amelie  had  chosen  similes  that  she  thought  Aunt 
Narcisse  could  understand.  The  old  woman  grunted 
as  she  had  a  way  of  doing  when  she  wished  to  show 
disapproval. 

"She  ain't  no  tadpole  and  she  ain't  no  frog,  en 
she  ain't  no  flower,"  she  said  slowly  and  sarcastically. 
"She's  er  snake,  en  yer  can't  jedge  er  snake's  pizen 
by  his  length.  I've  heerd  folks  say  de  least  snake's 
li'ble  ter  have  de  longest  flangs." 

Again  Amelie  felt  strange  and  uncomfortable.  She 
sat  down  on  the  steps  beside  Aunt  Narcisse  and  tried 
to  find  out  what  had  prompted  her  strange  remark. 
But  she  was  reticent  and  it  was  only  after  some  per- 
suasion that  Amelie  prevailed  upon  her  to  talk. 

"I'm  pow'ful  tired  hearin'  'bout  dat  'man's  voice,' 
ez  if  er  man  could  come  up  out'n  de  ye'rth  an'  den  be 
swaller'd  up  agin  rth'out  my  seein'  'im,"  she  began. 
"I  reckon  dey  takes  me  fer  er  plum  fool — blin'  en 
deef  en  dumb.  I  knows,  ef  anybody  knows,  dat  no 
man  don'  come  ter  dis  house  uv  o'  night  fer  ter  see 
you;  en  I  done  tole  'em  so." 

Amelie  gasped  in  surprise  and  pain.  "Mammy," 
she  cried,  "what  do  you  mean — what  have  they  said? 
How  could  they  talk  about  me  when  there  is  nothing 
to  say?  Surely  they  must  know  that  I  do  not  have 

51 


RECORD  NO.  33 


visitors — men  visitors !  Why  there  is  no  one  for  me 
to  have.  And  if  I  did,  how  could  thev  think  I  could 
keep  such  things  secret?" 

A  wave  of  resentment  swept  swiftly  over  her. 
Why  was  it  a  crime  for  her  to  live  alone?  What 
had  she  done  to  give  cause  for  these  unkind  things 
to  be  said  about  her?  While  she  waited  for  Aunt 
Narcisse  to  speak,  she  was  recalling  one  little  inci- 
dent after  another  of  the  past  few  days  that  seemed 
much  clearer  now  in  the  light  of  what  Aunt  Narcisse 
had  just  said.  A  feeling  of  bitterness  crept  up  into 
her  heart  that  made  her  think,  just  for  a  moment,  of 
that  morning  of  her  first  day  at  boarding-school. 
"Her  only  assets  are  a  Rossetti  face,  a  sense  of 
rhythm  and  a  family  tree" — and  the  metallic  laugh 
of  the  heartless  teachers — how  it  all  came  back  to 
her  again  as  she  sat  at  the  feet  of  Aunt  Narcisse 
waiting  yet  fearing  for  her  to  speak!  She  didn't 
understand  things  on  that  strange  morning  in  the 
boarding-school  any  more  than  she  understood  the 
antagonisms  of  her  present  environment,  but  she  felt 
the  sting  to-day  just  as  she  had  felt  it  on  that  dismal 
first  day  of  her  school  life.  Then  a  shaft  of  light 
shot  across  her  consciousness  at  the  thought  of  the 
French  Professor,  and  in  its  clear,  radiant  gleam 
clouds  of  doubt  and  fear  were  instantly  dispelled. 
She  threw  her  head  back  and  laughed  into  Aunt  Nar- 

52 


SOMEBODY  STARTS  A  GHOST  STORY 

cisse's  face.  "Why,  Mammy,  it's  funny,"  she  said, 
"it's  just  too  funny  for  anything!"  And  she  patted 
the  black  head  and  added  reassuringly,  "Don't  you 
let  that  worry  you." 

"Little  Miss,"  returned  Mammy  solemnly,  "dese 
folks  does  worry  me.  I'se  tired  uv  'em  comin'  here 
axin'  fer  flowers  and  sich  when  I  knows  dey  jes  wants 
ter  quiz  me  'bout  you.  I  did  worry  awful  myself  tell 
las'  night."  There  was  a  suggestion  of  mystery  in 
her  voice.  Then  doubt  crept  into  her  tone  when 
she  added,  "En  I'm  worryin'  some  now,  t'  tell  de 
truth." 

"What  happened  last  night,  Mammy?"  asked 
Amelie,  serious  again  now,  for  she  was  recalling  her 
impressions  of  the  evening  before.  She  remembered 
she  had  thought  she  heard  voices  and  footsteps  while 
she  was  listening  to  the  Professor. 

"Well,"  began  Aunt  Narcisse,  with  an  air  of  im- 
portance, "Sis  Clendennin'  and  two  er  three  uv  dem 
Trent  niggers  come  to  my  house  las'  night,  and  we 
sot  right  on  dese  steps  er  talkin'.  I  knowed  what 
dey  come  fer,  and  I  'lowed  I'd  set  'em  down  right 
her',  whar  dey  could  sho'  see  any  livin'  man  what 
could  come  to  dat  house,  no  matter  whar  he  come 
from.  And  here  we  sot,  er  talking'  bout  'ligion,  en' 
hoodoos,  en  things.  Pretty  soon,  sho'  nuff,  we  all 
heerd  som'thin'.  I  heerd  it  too — I  ain't  gointer  lie 

53 


RECORD  NO.  33 


'bout  it.  I  did  hear  it,  en  it  did  soun'  lak  er  man 
Sis  Clendennin'  she  popped  up  en  she  'low,  'What' 
dat,  Sis  Dupre?'  and  I  said,  "Tain'  nothin' — dat' 
what  'tis.'  And  that  oldes'  gal  er  Molly  Thomas's 
what  works  fer  Miss  Minnie  Martin  onc't  in  e 
while,  she  jumped  up  en  started  ter  run.  She  wu: 
skeered.  I  'lowed,  'Come  on  back  here,  gal,'  steri 
lak  ez  I  could,  and  dat  gal  she  stood  still  in  he 
tracks.  By  dat  time  all  uv  'em  had  riz  en  I  riz  too 
en  we  all  eased  off  towards  de  gate.  'Yer  hears  it 
don'  yer?'  says  Sis  Clendennin'  er  cutting  her  eyes  a 
me  in  de  moonlight;  en  her  voice,  hit  wuz  er  cutting 
me  too.  I  wuz  er  'ticin'  'em  on  tow'rds  de  gate,  bu 
what  ever  'twas,  it  did  soun'  pow'f'l  cl'ar,  en 
knowed  dey  heered  it.  'Yes,  I  hears  it,'  I  'lowed 
tryin'  fer  ter  ac'  onconcerned.  'Does  hit  soun'  te 
you  anyways  lak  er  man?'  sez  Sis  Clendennin',  e 
whisperin'  very  scarcastic  in  my  yeer.  *  'Spose  'tis  e 
man,'  sez  I,  'he  ain'  er  sayin'  nothin'  is  'e?'  'En  'i 
don'  soun'  very  nigh,  does  'e?'  'Gawd  knows  wha 
hes  er  sayin','  sez  Sis  Clendennin',  very  religious  lak 
And  den  dat  bigges'  gal  er  Molly  Thomas's  she  cu 
in,  kinder  under  her  breath  en  skeered  lak,  'Mebb, 
hit's  er  Injun  man  er  talking  Injun  talk,'  she  sez.  Ei 
dat  give  me  er  idee.  'Ain'  you  niggers  got  no  sense, 
I  sez,  very  knowin'  lak.  'Don'  y'all  know  human 
from  hants?  Hit's  hants  y'all  hears.'  En  de  las 

54 


SOMEBODY  STARTS  A  GHOST  STORY 
mammy's  son  uv  'em  tuk  out  'n  run  en  I  ain'  seen 


none  uv  'em  sence." 


Amelie's  heart  seemed  ready  to  burst  and  she 
wanted  to  throw  herself  into  the  sympathizing  arms 
of  Aunt  Narcisse  and  cry.  But  then  the  real  humor 
of  it  all  appealed  to  her  and  she  laughed.  But,  after 
a  moment,  she  grew  serious  again.  "Oh,  Mammy, 
now  you  have  started  something  and  it  will  be  all 
over  town  that  this  house  is  haunted,"  she  exclaimed 
excitedly,  and  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"What  'f  'tis?"  Aunt  Narcisse  answered  quickly. 
"Dat's  better'n  what's  done  been  started,  honey," 
and  she  bent  down  and  patted  the  fair  cheek  of  her 
mistress  with  her  kindly,  black  hand.  "Don't  you 
worry.  Mammy  knowed  what  she  wuz  er  doin' 
when  she  started  dat.  I  been  er  livin'  in  dis  ole 
woiT  er  long  time  en  I  got  yit  ter  hear  uv  my  fust 
scan'le  'bout  er  hant,  male  er  female." 

A  silence  followed  this  remark.  Amelie  did  not 
laugh,  for  something  hurt  her.  Aunt  Narcisse 
glanced  toward  Minnie  Martin's  white  cottage  at 
the  top  of  the  hill  and  then  added  solemnly,  "But  I 
wouldn't  put  it  past  her  to  start  som'n  on  er  hant, 
en  dat's  de  Gawd's  truf." 

Amelie's  conscience  hurt  her  because  she  had  kept 
her  secret  from  Aunt  Narcisse  and  she  then  and 
there  determined  to  take  her  into  her  confidence  as 

55 


RECORD  NO.  33 


soon  as  possible.  Just  as  this  decision  had  framed 
itself  in  her  mind  and  she  was  about  to  reassure  Aunt 
Narcisse,  little  Jeanne  came  around  the  corner  of 
the  house  and  joined  them  on  the  cabin  steps. 

Amelie  thought  she  detected  a  strange  expression 
in  the  child's  sweet  face  and  a  certain  nervousness 
in  her  manner.  Soon  she  was  to  learn  the  cause,  for 
a  remark  from  her  little  visitor  disclosed  the  truth 
of  what  she  had  already  suggested  to  Aunt  Narcisse, 
though  neither  realized  that  the  "hant"  story  had 
already  percolated  through  the  village. 

"Miss  Amelie,"  asked  the  child,  "are  you  afraid 
of  ghosts?" 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  don't  believe  in  them;  do 
you?"  Amelie  answered. 

"I  been  her'  er  long  time,  en  I  ain't  nuvver  see  er 
ghost  yit,"  put  in  Aunt  Narcisse  again,  and  by  way 
of  helping  the  situation. 

"You  don't  have  to  see  'em,  Mammy,"  said  Jeanne 
convincingly.  "Sometimes  you  jes'  hear  'em.  Miss 
Minnie  Martin  said  that  when  she  was  a  little  girl 
she  heard  'bout  a  ghost  or  a  spirit,  or  something  like 
that,  that  came  here  every  Spring.  She  said  it  was  a 
Injun  ghost  'cause  some  Injuns  had  been  killed  on 
this  place.  She  said  she  didn't  know  but  what  the 
Injun  was  killed  right  where  Miss  Amelie's  house  is 
standing.  She  said  the  last  time  the  Injun  came  he 

56 


SOMEBODY  STARTS  A  GHOST  STORY 

said  he  was  goin'  away  to  stay  sixty-five  years  and 
then  he  was  coming  back  again,  and  she  said  she 
wouldn't  be  surprised  if  the  sixty-five  years  wasn't 
about  up  right  now.  She  said  nobody  could  under- 
stand Injun  talk  and  there  was  no  telling  what  he  is 
saying.  I  wish  we  could  understand  it." 

Jeanne's  eyes  were  fairly  dancing  with  excitement 
and  Aunt  Narcisse  was  taking  in  the  story  with  open 
mouth  and  wide  staring  eyes. 

"Fo'  Gawd,"  she  ejaculated,  "whar'd  yer  say  dat 
Injun  wuz  killed,  honey?" 

"I  don't  know  'zackly,  Mammy,"  the  child  re- 
plied, "but  I'll  ask  Miss  Minnie  Martin — she 
knows,"  and  then  she  broke  off  suddenly,  "Miss 
Amelie,  Brother  Nelson  is  hitching  at  your  gate. 
He's  coming  to  see  you."  Brother  Nelson  was  her 
pastor. 

Amelie  started.  "Why,  he  was  here  only  last 
week,"  she  said,  "and  he  never  comes  so  often."  She 
ran  in  to  smooth  her  hair  and  to  see  if  things  were 
just  right  in  the  sitting-room  before  Brother  Nelson 
knocked  at  the  front  door.  She  pushed  the  biggest 
rocking-chair  near  the  door  for  the  preacher  and 
hastily  dragged  the  big  Bible  from  under  some  pa- 
pers and  magazines  where  it  had  been  submerged, 
dusted  it  and  placed  it  in  plain  view. 

Despite  her  efforts  to  steer  him  toward  the  big 
57 


RECORD  NO.  33 


chair  she  had  intended  for  him,  Brother  Nelson 
made  straight  for  Amelie's  little  willow  chair  which 
she  constantly  feared  would  give  way  under  the 
weight  of  his  ponderous  body,  and  she  sat  with  en- 
forced stiffness  in  a  straight  chair  that  she  especially 
disliked. 

Brother  Nelson  sighed  heavily  and  looked  unusu- 
ally serious.  To  her  remarks  he  made  short  and 
solemn  answers  and  he  looked  steadily  at  the  pattern 
in  the  rug  under  his  big  feet.  The  subject  of  the 
weather  having  been  exhaustively  disposed  of, 
Amelie  glanced  at  the  clock  and  found  that  less  than 
five  minutes  had  elapsed  since  he  had  hitched  his 
flea-bitten  horse  to  the  horseshoe  on  her  hitching- 
post,  and  she  reflected  with  dismay  that  he  usually 
stayed  an  hour.  Then  she  took  up  in  regular  order 
the  sick  people  of  the  town,  and  heard  Brother 
Nelson  tell  with  minute  accuracy  just  when  and 
where  and  from  whom  he  had  last  heard  about  each 
one. 

He  was  not  sure  whether  it  was  Wednesday  or 
Tuesday  that  he  met  Joe  Spiller  in  the  post  office  and 
he  was  told  that  his  father's  feet  were  pretty  badly 
swollen,  but  Amelie  gave  him  time  to  think  it  over 
carefully  and  finally  he  said  he  felt  pretty  sure  that 
it  was  Tuesday,  since  that  was  the  day  he  got  the 
bad  news  from  the  north  end  of  the  county  that  old 

53 


SOMEBODY  STARTS  A  GHOST  STORY 

Mrs.  Ainsley  was  dead.  Then  he  couldn't  remem- 
ber whether  it  was  at  prayer  meeting  or  at  the  mis- 
sionary meeting  the  day  before  that  Jennie  Adams 
had  told  him  that  she  heard  that  Ollie  Russell  had 
got  pretty  badly  "shook  up"  in  a  runaway  the  week 
before,  but  that  he  was  about  all  right  now. 

All  of  these  important  details  having  been  settled, 
she  saw  that  another  five  minutes  had  passed  and 
just  at  that  moment  Brother  Nelson  said,  "Sister 
Trent,  let  us  pray." 

Amelie  got  up  mechanically,  turned  around  and 
knelt  down  before  the  straight  chair.  Her  delicate 
hands  were  clasped  lightly  on  the  chair  in  front  of 
her  and  her  pale,  spiritual  face  was  uplifted  to  the 
God  to  whom  her  pure  heart  turned  in  this  strange 
hour.  Through  the  white  Swiss  curtain  at  the  win- 
dow a  ray  of  half-hearted  light  from  the  sinking  sun 
wooed  back  into  her  soft  brown  hair  its  forgotten 
gold  and  flung  a  warm,  kindly  glow  over  her  white 
face.  But  warmer,  more  tender,  more  golden  was 
the  light  from  within  that  was  reflected  in  the  re- 
laxed and  finely  cut  features,  for  Amelie  was  pray- 
ing in  her  simple  way  to  the  only  God  she  knew — the 
God  of  her  flowers  and  of  her  soul. 

Kneeling  there  with  the  sunlight  filtering  over  her 
she  looked  like  the  miniature  of  her  little  French 
grandmother,  and  then  as  the  shadows  of  the  room 

59 


RECORD  NO.  33 


deepened  and  the  sunlight  stole  reverently  away,  the 
picture  she  made  suggested  the  old  oil  portrait  of  her 
mother  above  the  mantel — only  she  was  more  dainty, 
more  gentle,  more  lovely  than  either. 

Out  over  the  distance,  through  the  impenetrable 
space,  her  soul  was  straining  toward  the  fulfilment 
of  half-conscious,  unexpressed  desires  of  a  lifetime, 
and  in  spite  of  herself  there  was  mixed  up  inextri- 
cably in  that  prayer  thoughts  of  the  French  Pro- 
fessor I 

She  was  scarcely  conscious  of  the  presence  of  the 
preacher,  who  prayed  in  words  that  fell  dully  on  her 
ears  until,  like  a  familiar  half  remembered  refrain, 
she  heard  him  say, 

"Especially  when  a  woman  lives  all  alone." 

Had  not  Mrs.  Adams  said  those  very  words  that 
afternoon  in  the  store  several  days  before,  and  had 
not  Minnie  repeated  them  when  she  met  her  coming 
home  that  same  afternoon?  How  sharp  and  keen 
seemed  the  echo  from  that  early  Spring  day ! 

His  words  came  with  cutting  clearness  now,  "Oh, 
Lord,  have  mercy  on  this  dear  sister  and  guide  her 
footsteps  along  the  straight  and  narrow  way.  Let 
her  be  watchful  lest  she  become  ensnared  in  tempta- 
tion, and  her  light  shall  become  as  darkness  and  her 
strength  weakness." 

After  a  long  postponed  "Amen,"  Brother  Nelson 
60 


SOMEBODY  STARTS  A  GHOST  STORY 

rose  laboriously  from  his  knees  and  sighed  deeply. 
Then  he  went  over  to  the  table  and  got  the  old 
Trent  Bible.  And  after  he  had  strayed  into  the  big 
rocking-chair  at  last  and  had  carefully  adjusted  his 
glasses,  he  opened  the  book  across  his  knees  and  be- 
gan to  turn  the  pages. 

Amelie  raised  the  shades  and  drew  the  curtains 
aside  to  let  in  the  misty  gray  light  of  the  dying  day 
and  then  the  preacher  began  to  read: 

"A  good  name  is  better  than  precious  ointment," 
and,  "That  which  is  afar  off,  and  exceeding  deep, 
who  can  find  it  out." 

She  thought  of  the  French  Professor's  voice  be- 
hind the  door  not  three  feet  from  where  Brother 
Nelson  sat — "afar  off  and  exceeding  deep" — she 
repeated  in  her  mind.  Then  the  reader  stopped  and 
turned  a  page  or  two  in  the  Bible  and  after  a  while 
he  cleared  his  throat  and  read: 

"For  God  shall  bring  every  work  into  judgment, 
with  every  secret  thing,  whether  it  be  good  or 
whether  it  be  evil." 

After  he  had  bidden  her  a  solemn  good-bye,  and 
when  the  flea-bitten  horse  was  disappearing  over  the 
hill,  Amelie  went  to  the  "secret  thing"  in  the  closet 
and  heard  a  voice  "afar  off  and  exceeding  deep"  say 
in  her  listening  ear, 

"What  would  you  like  to  do  this  evening?  Is  it 
61 


RECORD  NO. 


too  chilly  for  you  to  take  a  walk  or  would  you  prefer 
a  drive?" 

"How  delicious  you  are,"  she  said,  laughing,  "and 
how  easy  it  is  to  forget  the  others  when  I  hear  you  1" 

"Afar  off  and  exceeding  deep,"  she  repeated  as 
she  was  going  to  sleep  that  night. 


CHAPTER   V 

RECORD   NO.    33 

THE  next  night  Aunt  Narcisse  was  introduced 
to  the  French  Professor.  Upon  Amelie's 
invitation  she  came  in  after  the  usual  early 
bedtime  hush  had  settled  over  the  neighborhood, 
and,  with  wondering,  half-afraid  eyes  stood  and 
contemplated  the  mysterious  box. 

It  was  only  after  some  pleading  that  Amelie  per- 
suaded her  to  sit  down  near  the  machine,  and  when 
the  voice  began  to  speak,  the  old  black  hands  began 
to  tremble  and  the  startled  eyes  gazed  straight  at 
the  box  as  if  it  were  actually  speaking. 

"Great  Gawd  er  Mighty,  little  Miss,"  she  said 
solemnly,  "whar  is  de  man — oui,  monsieur,  oui," 
she  would  break  off  in  answer  to  a  question  from 
the  Professor.  "Is  'e  deef  ?  He  don'  'pear  ter  he'r 
me  when  I  talks — whar  is  'e  anyhow?"  and  she 
stooped  and  looked  under  the  table  and  all  around 
the  box.  But  the  Professor  talked  on  quite  earnestly. 

"Little  Miss,  no  wonder  dem  niggers  thought  dis 
63 


RECORD  NO.  33 


wuz  Hants — en  'tis  Hants.  Ef  dey  ain'  no  man  her' 
how  kin  er  man  be  er  talkin'?  Ef  'tain'  Hants,  what 
is  it?  Dat's  what  I  wants  ter  know."  And  then, 
after  a  pause  during  which  she  was  listening  in- 
tently again,  she  said  very  seriously,  "Little  Miss, 
you  let  dis  her'  thing  erlone — I  believe  hit's  de  work 
uv  de  devil — I  sho'  does."  She  moved  her  chair 
away  from  the  machine  and  finally,  with  great  so- 
lemnity, she  got  up  to  go. 

Amelie  laughed  childishly  during  this  demonstra- 
tion. "O  Mammy,"  she  said,  throwing  her  arms 
around  the  old  negro's  neck,  "it's  God's  work.  He 
sent  the  Professor  to  talk  to  me  because  I'm  lonely." 
She  pulled  Aunt  Narcisse  into  the  chair  again  and 
dropped  down  on  the  floor  at  her  feet. 

"Mammy,  you  see  all  those  books  over  there? 
Well,  I  have  read  every  one  and  they  all  tell  about 
love.  Everybody  must  have  human  love  to  satisfy 
human  longings  and  to  fulfill  human  destiny.  God 
intended  for  us  to  love  and  be  loved.  We  can't 
really  begin  to  understand  His  love  until  we  have 
realized  human  love.  You  see,  Mammy,  I  have 
never  really  loved  anybody  except  my  precious 
mother  and  then  I  was  too  young  to  know.  She 
loved,  too."  The  sweet  blue  eyes  looked  up  into  the 
soft  appealing  ones  above  the  mantel.  "She  knew 
the  joy  of  love,  was  thrilled  with  its  wondrous  prom- 

64 


'  'Ef  dey  ain'  no  man  her'  how  kin  er  man  be  er  talkin'?'  " 


RECORD  NO.  S3 


ises  and  then — she  had  to  shut  the  memory  of  it  all 
up  into  her  young  heart  and  keep  it  there  while  she 
tried  to  live  out  her  material  life.  But,  Mammy, 
you  can't  shut  love  up,  you  can't  kill  it.  It  is  life,  it 
is  divine,  and  it  lives  on.  And  the  shut-in  love  of 
her  dear  life  escaped,  and  took  refuge  in  my  soul, 
and  there  it  lives  and  struggles  and  cries  for  light 
and  freedom  and  expression." 

Tears  came  into  the  dim  old  eyes  as  they,  too, 
sought  the  fair  face  above  the  mantel,  and  for  a  full 
moment  the  two  sat  there  in  silence.  Then  Aunt 
Narcisse  slowly  wiped  her  tears  away  on  the  corner 
of  her  big  checked  apron,  and  as  she  did  so  the  ex- 
pression of  doubt  and  wonder  came  into  her  face 
again  and  she  looked  first  at  the  girl  at  her  feet  and 
then  at  the  ugly  box  on  the  table.  Slowly,  over  the 
black  face  there  stole  a  reluctant  smile. 

"Gawd  mout  er  sont  it  en  den  ergin  'e  mouten't," 
she  said,  "en  ef  'e  did,  long  ez  'e  wuz  er  sendin',  'e 
mout  er  sont  er  sho  nuff  man  what  yer  could  see  en 
tech,  en  what  could  see  en  tech  you."  Aunt  Nar- 
cisse folded  her  arms  complacently  and  grunted,  and 
she  could  express  more  in  a  grunt  than  most  people 
can  express  in  words.  'Twould  be  pow'ful  on- 
satisfyin'  to  most  women  to  be  lovin'  jest  the  voice 
uv  er  man  shet  up  in  er  tin  box."  Then  something 
in  the  girl's  look  appealed  to  her  and  she  stroked 

65 


RECORD  NO.  33 


the  brown  head  affectionately  and  changed  her  tone. 
"But  ther'  ain'  no  harm  in  it,  honey,  no  more  en 
there'd  be  in  lovin'  er  hant,  en  'tain'  nobody's  busi- 
ness if  yer  wants  ter  be  playin'  lak.  She  jes* 
dreamed  en  dreamed  en  never  had  no  real  love," 
and  both  looked  up  at  the  portrait  again,  "en  she 
didn't  have  nothin'  left  uv  him  shet  up  in  er  box 
nuther.  Ye'r  better  off  en  she  wuz,  'cause  yer  got 
some'in'  in  that  ther'  box — Gawd  knows  what — en 
one  thing  certain,  yer  ain'  got  somebody  roun'  her', 
yer'd  rurther  wuz  somewhere  else,  nuther.  No  man 
'tall  is  er  long  sight  better'n  er  man  wid  de  devil 


in  'im." 


After  Amelie  had  explained  the  phonograph  to 
her  as  best  she  could  and  had  sufficiently  impressed 
her  with  the  necessity  for  absolute  secrecy,  Aunt 
Narcisse  went  to  her  cabin. 

When  she  had  gone  Amelie  sat  as  in  a  dream  for 
a  long  time.  She  was  thinking  of  her  mother  and 
of  her  mother's  lover  of  the  long  ago. 

Then  she  went  to  the  closet  and  scanned  the  num- 
bers on  the  records  very  closely  as  she  held  a  candle 
above  them. 

"Record  No.  33,"  she  said.  "Here's  one  I  have 
never  tried.  I  wonder  what  the  Professor  has  to 
say  here,"  and  a  moment  later  she  was  slipping  the 
black  record  on  the  machine. 

66 


RECORD  NO.  33 


The  same  little  click  of  the  lever,  the  same  little 
turn  of  the  screw;  the  same  preliminary  whirring,  but 
— listen!  What  was  this?  Was  she  dreaming? 
What  was  he  saying?  Her  heart  thumped  violently 
and  then  stood  still  as  she  listened. 

"/  am  very,  very  tired  of  talking  to  a  machine — 
a  cold,  heartless,  unresponsive  machine  day  after 
day,  and  week  after  week.  The  people  here  are  cold 
and  unresponsive,  like  their  machines.  I  long  for  my 
old  home  in  Louisiana." 

"Louisiana!"  whispered  the  astounded  listener. 

"/  want  to  scent  the  magnolias  and  the  jessamine 
and  the  roses — to  see  the  glint  of  the  Southern  sun 
on  Southern  waters — to  tangle  my  hands  again  in 
the  long  festoons  of  gray  moss  hanging  from  the 
giant  oaks.  I  know  that  somewhere  in  that  dear 
Southern  land  there  is  a  sweet,  gentle  woman  with  a 
dream  in  her  eyes  and  music  in  her  voice  and  good- 
ness in  her  soul  who  could  bring  to  me  the  only  hap- 
piness I  crave — home  and  love." 

Amelie  straightened  up  and  rubbed  her  eyes. 
Surely  she  must  have  been  dreaming.  Those  words, 
in  that  familiar  voice,  infinitely  sweeter  and  softer 
and  more  beautiful  than  it  had  ever  been  before — 
words  that  were  marvelously  clear — where  could 
they  have  come  from  except  out  of  her  imagination? 
But  what  power  had  this  little  machine  to  give  her 

67 


RECORD  NO.  33 


the  real  voice  of  her  French  Professor  without  the 
buzzing  and  the  whirring,  and  whence  came  this 
strangely  human  quality  that  now  sounded  in  the 
words?  If  she  had  heard  aright,  surely  the  Profes- 
sor must  be  in  the  room  and  not  in  the  box.  Invol- 
untarily, as  if  almost  afraid,  she  glanced  about  her. 
There  were  the  same  familiar  objects — the  old 
clock  on  the  mantel,  telling  off  those  mysterious  mo- 
ments just  as  busily  and  disinterestedly  as  usual; 
there  were  the  brass  candlesticks,  standing  on  guard 
as  straight  and  as  faithful  as  ever;  there  was  the 
picture  of  "Hope"  with  its  attitude  of  despair,  over 
her  little  bookcase — Hope  with  its  single  star  shining 
in  the  mist;  and  there  was  the  sweet,  sad  face  of  her 
mother  looking  down  upon  her  in  tenderness  and 
love.  Then,  her  eyes  came  back  to  that  other  thing 
in  the  room — the  thing  that  was  new  and  strange  in 
that  familiar  setting — the  machine,  so  cold,  so  unre- 
sponsive, and  yet  how  human !  There  it  was,  mute 
now  and  dead,  though  only  a  moment  before  it  had 
lived,  it  had  breathed,  it  had  spoken! 

Amelie  got  up  and  walked  about  the  room  several 
times.  What  did  this  mean?  Had  she  been  linger- 
ing too  long  over  the  voice  of  the  French  Professor 
and  had  she  grown  nervous  and  unstrung?  Or  had 
she  really  heard  those  words? 

She  scarcely  knew  whether  to  start  the  machine 
68 


RECORD  NO.  33 


and  hear  the  record  again  or  whether  to  be  satisfied 
with  the  dream,  for  the  memory  of  the  words  as  she 
had  heard  them  she  wished  to  keep  with  her  always. 
She  hesitated,  with  her  hand  on  the  machine,  lest  she 
should  find,  if  she  turned  the  lever,  that  she  had 
been  merely  dreaming.  And  still,  if  those  dear 
words  were  really  on  the  record,  if  she  had  in  reality 
heard  them,  how  much  they  would  mean  to  her! 

Yes,  she  would  try  it  again,  and  she  pushed  the 
point  back  at  the  beginning  of  the  record  and  set  the 
wheel  revolving. 

"/  am  very,  very  tired  of  talking  to  a  machine — 

a  cold,  heartless,  unresponsive  machine "  Her 

heart  was  throbbing  excitedly.  She  had  heard 
aright;  the  voice,  the  voice  in  its  natural  beauty, 
without  the  jarring  buzz  of  the  machine,  was  really 
there  somehow.  She  listened  again  to  the  end. 

" the  magnolias  and  the  jessamine  and  the 

roses — to  see  the  glint  of  the  Southern  sun  on  South- 
ern waters.  .  .  .  I  know  that  somewhere  in  that 
dear  Southern  land  there  is  a  sweet,  gentle  woman 
with  a  dream  in  her  eyes  and  music  in  her  voice  and 
goodness  in  her  soul  who  could  bring  to  me  the  only 
happiness  I  crave — home  and  love." 

After  this  there  was  a  sudden  break  and — silence. 
She  bent  her  head  close  to  the  machine  and  looked 
again  at  the  number.  Yes,  it  was  Record  No.  33, 


RECORD  NO.  33 


to  all  appearances  just  like  all  the  others.  She  got 
out  the  instruction  book  and  turned  to  "Lesson  No. 
33."  Did  it  begin,  "I  am  very,  'very  tired  of  talking 
to  a  machine?"  No,  here  it  was,  "My  sister  takes 
coffee  and  I  take  tea.  Will  you  kindly  tell  my 
uncle "  but  she  did  not  wait  to  read  the  rest. 

She  got  out  each  record  and  examined  it,  tried  it 
and  compared  it  with  the  lessons  in  the  instruction 
book. 

There  was  no  lesson  that  began,  "I  am  very,  very 

tired  of  talking  to  a  machine "  Then  she  made 

another  search,  and  on  no  record  did  the  French 
Professor  say,  "My  sister  takes  coffee  and  I  take 
tea." 

The  first  gray  light  of  early  morning  was  creeping 
in,  as  if  reluctant  to  dispel  the  dream,  when  Amelie 
assigned  the  Professor  to  his  accustomed  place  and 
went  to  bed.  Her  last  conscious  thoughts  were  of 
the  words  on  Record  No.  33,  "the  magnolias  and  the 
jessamine  and  the  roses  ....  the  only  happiness  I 
crave — home  and  love" 

The  days  that  followed  were  very,  very  strange 
ones  for  her,  and  it  was  in  those  days  that  the  cur- 
rent of  her  whole  life  was  turned,  and  she  started 
on  a  new  phase  of  her  existence.  They  were  lonely 
days,  partly  because  the  neighbors,  for  one  reason 
or  another,  were  too  busy  to  run  in  to  see  her  as  had 

70 


RECORD  NO.  33 


been  their  habit,  and  partly  because,  with  windows 
and  doors  open,  she  dared  not  let  the  Professor's 
voice  be  heard  even  from  his  place  in  the  closet  for 
fear  he  would  be  discovered.  She  knew  definitely 
now  that  she  could  never  share  her  secret  with  the 
neighbors  on  the  hill.  He  had  meant  so  much  to 
her,  was  so  much  a  part  of  her  inner,  secret  exist- 
ence that  she  felt  that  it  would  almost  be  a  sacrilege 
to  divide  him  with  others.  She  had  even  refrained 
of  late  from  mentioning  the  machine  to  Aunt  Nar- 
cisse,  who  had  never  become  wholly  reconciled  to 
the  Professor,  and  who  still  looked  at  the  machine 
with  some  measure  of  distrust. 

True,  very  often  she  took  the  wonderful  Record 
No.  33  from  its  box  and  listened  again  and  again  to 
the  sweet,  mysterious  message  long  after  every  light 
on  the  hill  had  gone  out.  By  the  moonlight  that 
flooded  in  at  the  sitting-room  windows,  and  even  by 
the  more  exquisite  starlight  when  the  moon  did  not 
shine,  she  had  sat  many  a  night  and  listened.  "The 
magnolias  and  the  jessamine  and  the  roses  .... 
the  glint  of  the  Southern  sun  on  Southern  waters 
....  the  only  happiness  I  crave — home  and  love" 

When  Sunday  came  she  went  to  church  and  tried 
to  get  into  the  spirit  of  the  simple  service.  She 
saw  Mrs.  Adams,  whose  glance  she  frequently  felt 
but  whose  eye  she  never  seemed  to  catch  for  the 

71 


RECORD  NO.  33 


accustomed  greeting.  And  there  was  Minnie  Mar- 
tin, in  a  stiffly  starched  white  dress,  who  spoke  to  her 
very  formally  when  she  met  her  at  the  church  door. 
There  were  the  hymns  she  loved  so  well,  and  she 
tried  to  feel  and  understand  them  as  she  followed 
them,  but  something  choked  her  to-day  and  she  could 
not  sing.  Then  there  was  the  prayer,  in  which 
Brother  Nelson  again  referred  vaguely  to  the 
"straight  and  narrow  way,"  which,  in  some  subtle 
way,  seemed  to  touch  her,  and  she  almost  expected 
to  hear  something  about  the  woman  "who  lives 
alone." 

The  passing  of  the  small  wicker  baskets  into  one 
of  which  she  dropped  her  contribution  recalled  her 
to  herself,  and  she  took  up  the  thread  of  things  just 
where  it  had  slipped  from  her  a  few  moments  be- 
fore. 

The  Summer  breeze  drifted  through  the  little 
church  and  stirred  the  lace  frill  at  Amelie's  throat 
and  toyed  with  the  wisps  of  dark  hair  that  waved 
over  her  white  temples.  Then  it  rippled  the  petals 
of  the  brilliant  nasturtiums  that  she  had  brought 
from  her  cathedral  garden  for  the  altar,  and  even 
audaciously  ruffled  the  leaves  of  the  big  Bible  as  if 
it  were  opposed  to  the  scripture  Brother  Nelson  was 
about  to  read — all  of  which  was  a  great  deal  for 
one  little  soft  Summer  breeze  to  do. 

72 


RECORD  NO.  33 


Then,  in  what  seemed  a  peculiar  stillness,  she 
heard  the  words  of  the  text  read  in  the  deliberate, 
clear,  loud  voice  of  the  preacher: 

"For  there  is  nothing  covered  that  shall  not  be 
revealed;  neither  hid  that  shall  not  be  known. 

"Therefore,  whatsoever  ye  have  spoken  in  dark- 
ness, shall  be  heard  in  the  light;  and  that  which  ye 
have  spoken  in  the  ear  in  closets  shall  be  proclaimed 
upon  the  housetops." 

Something  under  the  lace  frill  on  Amelie's  dress 
gave  a  queer  little  jump — "And  that  which  ye  have 
spoken  in  the  ear  in  closets  shall  be  proclaimed 
upon  the  housetops." 

Just  then  she  felt  as  if  she  were  the  center  of  the 
universe  and  that  everything  radiated  from  her  and 
led  back  again  to  her.  As  she  sat  there  in  the  little 
church  that  morning  she  felt  again  a  wild  desire  to 
fly  away  from  it  all,  from  something,  she  knew  not 
what.  The  words  of  the  preacher  fell  like  hard 
lumps  of  clay  on  her  dull  senses,  and  when  the  serv- 
ice was  over  she  hurried  away  as  if  she  were  being 
pursued. 

Strange  feelings  these  were  for  her  whose  whole 
life  had  been  so  simple,  so  frank  and  so  pure. 
What  had  she  done?  Was  the  sermon  meant  for 
her?  What  was  her  crime?  Could  it  be  that  all  of 
these  stings  had  come  because  she  had  never  told 

73 


RECORD  NO.  33 


what  was  in  that  box?  Then  she  smiled  over  the 
thought  of  the  ghost  story,  and  took  a  little  foolish 
delight  in  this  absurdity  that  she  knew  had  already 
gone  abroad.  But,  as  Aunt  Narcisse  had  reminded 
her,  it  could  not  hurt  her,  though  it  was  not  alto- 
gether pleasant. 

Cool  and  sweet  the  little  sitting-room  seemed  to 
her  that  calm  Summer  Sabbath  afternoon,  and  with 
that  self-control  possessed  by  strong,  clear  souls  like 
hers,  she  put  unpleasant  things  aside  and  enjoyed  her 
flowers,  which  were  now  beginning  to  show  in  bril- 
liant patches  in  the  garden.  At  last  she  opened  the 
door  behind  which  the  French  Professor  was  shut 
up  in  his  box. 

"What  shall  I  do  ?"  she  said  playfully.  "Continue 
to  have  you  speak  in  my  ear  in  the  closet,  or  shall  I 
bring  you  forth  and  let  you  proclaim  yourself  from 
the  housetops?"  Then  a  minor  tone  crept  into  her 
voice  as  she  said  pleadingly,  "I  wish  you  were  here. 
Things  are  not  right  with  me — I  am  unhappy,  and 
no  one  seems  to  care.  I  am  so  far  away  from  my 
childhood  home,  and  things  seem  so  unreal — that  is, 
everything  but  you.  You,  my  canned  Professor,  are 
the  only  real  thing  I  have  left." 

A  few  moments  later  the  Professor  was  proclaim- 
ing, not  from  the  housetops,  but  for  her  ear  alone, 
that  he  was  homesick  for  the  magnolias  and  the  jes- 

74 


RECORD  NO.  33 


samine  and  the  roses  down  in  Louisiana,  and  that  he 
was  longing  for  home  and  love ! 

Summer  more  than  fulfilled  all  of  Spring's  prom- 
ises in  Kentucky  that  year,  and  the  little  cathedral 
garden  was  a  mass  of  brilliant-hued  flowers. 

It  was  midsummer  now,  and  again  she  watched 
the  flowery  congregation  gathering  out  in  the  cathe- 
dral garden — the  petunias  and  the  verbenas  and  the 
roses  and  the  geraniums — all  in  their  accustomed 
pews  across  and  adown  the  aisles. 

Many  days  and  many  nights  she  pondered  on  the 
sermon  she  had  heard  in  the  little  brick  church  that 
Sunday  morning;  but  she  would  put  such  thoughts 
aside  and  go  out  into  her  cathedral  garden  and  feel 
in  her  soul  the  sermon  the  flowers  gave  her  from 
out  their  lovely,  mystic  depths. 

But  more  and  more  the  words  of  Aunt  Narcisse 
were  impressing  themselves  into  her  consciousness — 
"it's  pow'ful  onsatisfyin'  ter  be  er  lovin'  er  man  yer 
can't  see  en  yer  can't  tech,  en  what  can't  see  nor 
tech  you." 

She  was  longing  to  see  the  French  Professor. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SOME   LETTERS    AND  A    LOAN 

ONE    morning,    a    few   weeks    later,    Amelie 
received  a  letter.      She  saw  that  it  was 
from   the   office    in    New   York,    perhaps 
from    the    very    place    itself    where    the    French 
Professor   had    spoken    the   wonderful    words    on 
Record  No.  33.     She  opened  it  with  trembling  hands 
and  read: 

MY  DEAR  MADAME  : 

We  shall  appreciate  it  very  much  indeed  if  you  will  re- 
turn to  us  at  your  earliest  convenience  Record  No.  33  which 
was  shipped  with  the  machine  for  the  French  language.  We 
have  just  learned,  most  unexpectedly,  that,  through  the 
mistake  of  an  employee,  an  extra  record  was  made  and  that 
it  accidentally  got  in  with  a  shipment  about  the  time  your 
phonograph  was  ordered.  We  are  therefore  asking  that  all 
of  the  records  of  this  number  that  were  shipped  during  this 
period  be  returned  to  us  so  that  we  may  locate  the  stray 
record  and  substitute  the  proper  one  for  it. 

Your  early  compliance  with  this  request  will  be  appreci- 
ated, and  we  guarantee  that  the  correct  record  is  supplied 
to  you  if  it  has  fallen  to  your  lot  to  receive  the  wrong  one, 

76 


SOME  LETTERS  AND  A  LOAN 

otherwise  we  will  return  the  record  in  good  order.  Thank- 
ing you  in  advance,  and  hoping  the  phonograph  is  prov- 
ing satisfactory,  we  are, 

Very  respectfully  yours, 
UNIVERSAL  LANGUAGE  PHONE  Co,, 

Per  C.  K.  Lawrence,  President. 

Amelie  smiled  as  she  read,  and  then  sat  down  in 
her  little  old  rocker  and  laughed  outright 

"And  to  think,"  she  said,  "that  because  of  the 
mistake  of  that  employee  this  precious  Record  No. 
33  should  have  strayed  off  down  here  to  Kentucky 
to  poor  little  me !  How  much  pleasure  it  has  given 
me!  Send  it  back?  Never,  Mr.  Lawrence.  Ex- 
change it  for  some  idiotic  information  about  the 
father  of  Julius,  or  the  favorite  drink  of  somebody's 
sister?  I  should  say  not!" 

So  she  got  out  her  mother's  writing-desk,  with  its 
mother-of-pearl  roses,  adjusted  the  broken  hinges, 
and  she  wrote: 

MY  DEAR  MR.  LAWRENCE: 

Your  letter  received.  I  have  carefully  examined  Record 
No.  33  of  my  phonograph  and  I  find  that  it  is  perfectly 
satisfactory.  It  is,  in  fact,  clearer  and  more  perfect  than 
any  of  my  other  records,  and  since  I  am  now  using  this  one 
constantly,  and  since  it  is  all  that  I  could  desire,  I  am  sure 
you  will  not  expect  me  to  return  it. 

Very  respectfully, 

AMELIE  TRENT. 

77 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"The  mistake  of  an  employee,"  she  kept  saying 
over  and  over  to  herself  all  day.  Somehow  the 
French  Professor  was  nearer  to  her  now.  She 
was  almost  beginning  to  understand  him.  She  was 
quite  sure  she  would  know  him  instantly  if  she  were 
to  meet  him.  His  life,  too,  must  have  grown  mo- 
notonous, and  he  must  have  had  the  same  sort  of  a 
wild  desire  to  break  away  from  things  that  bound 
him  that  she  had  had  so  many  times  of  late. 

Where  was  he,  she  was  wondering — down  in  dear 
New  Orleans,  whither  her  heart  turned  so  longingly? 
Could  it  be  that  even  now  he  was  enjoying  the  mag- 
nolias and  the  jessamine  and  the  roses? 

And  then — her  needle  pricked  her  delicate  finger 
— she  wondered  if  he  had  found  the  sweet  Southern 
woman  with  the  dream  in  her  eyes  and  music  in  her 
voice  and  goodness  in  her  soul,  if  he  had  found  the 
only  happiness  he  craved — love  and  home? 

A  certain  lightness  was  in  her  heart  that  day,  and 
her  fingers  fairly  flew  over  the  dainty  white  dress 
she  was  making  for  Jeanne.  Kitty,  Jeanne's  mother, 
had  not  been  well,  and  Amelie  had  been  helping  her 
with  her  sewing.  To-day  she  forgot  Minnie  Mar- 
tin's cutting  manner;  she  forgot  Brother  Nelson's 
subtle  prayer;  and  she  forgot  that  she  was  "living 
alone";  for,  in  fact,  was  not  the  French  Professor 
with  her? 

78 


SOME  LETTERS  AND  A  LOAN 

How  very  delightful  it  must  be,  she  thought,  to 
dare  to  be  guilty  of  such  a  caprice  as  that  charged 
at  the  door  of  that  employee  !  Could  that  employee 
have  been  the  Professor  himself?  If  so,  how  he 
must  have  enjoyed  it,  and  how  good  he  must  have 
felt  after  he  knew  that  the  mischievous  black  record 
had  gone  on  its  strange  journey!  No  wonder  he 
seemed  so  very  near  to  her  when  he  was  saying  those 
words  in  her  ear! 

How  natural  it  seemed  that  she,  with  the  same 
sort  of  a  soul  and  the  very  same  longings,  should  be 
swept  in  some  mysterious  manner  into  the  current 
of  his  thoughts  through  that  marvelous  little  Record 
No.  33. 

Once  in  a  while,  as  she  sewed,  she  glanced  up  at 
the  portrait  of  her  mother  hanging  in  its  heavy  gilt 
frame  above  her  mantel,  and  in  the  dark  eyes  she 
fancied  she  saw  the  shadow  of  a  longing  unfulfilled. 
She  knew  in  a  very  vague  way  that  her  mother  had 
loved  with  all  the  ardor  of  her  joyous  young  heart 
a  man  of  her  own  kind — a  young  Frenchman,  dash- 
ing and  brilliant.  To-day,  as  she  sat  there  and 
sewed,  she  was  trying  to  recall  everything  her 
mother  had  ever  told  her  about  him.  As  she 
thought,  the  haze  that  enveloped  the  memories 
seemed  to  clear  away,  and  the  story  came  back  to 
her  in  fragments.  She  remembered  the  picture,  as  it 

79 


RECORD  NO.  33 


had  been  conjured  up  in  her  childish  brain  when  her 
mother  had  told  the  story  while  lying  on  her  couch 
under  the  orange-trees  in  Louisiana.  She  had  tried 
not  to  dwell  on  those  last  sad  days,  when  her 
mother's  bright  life  was  fading,  and  so,  somehow, 
in  after  years  she  thought  of  her  always  with  her 
French  lover  strolling  under  the  orange-trees,  or 
floating  in  a  bateau  in  the  moonlight  on  the  dark 
river  that  flowed  through  her  plantation  home.  She 
could  see  the  wrhite  house,  with  its  green  blinds  and 
its  wide  porch  with  the  tall  colonial  pillars.  The  pic- 
ture came  to  her  to-day  with  a  wondrous  vividness, 
and  out  of  the  wide  doorway  came  the  slender  figure 
of  her  mother,  a  graceful,  vivacious  girl,  with  love 
in  her  eyes — love  for  her  French  sweetheart.  And 
then  the  brightness  faded  from  the  scene,  for  the  war 
came  with  all  its  horrors,  and  the  girl  with  the  dream 
in  her  eyes  and  the  music  in  her  voice  grew  away 
from  her  youth  and  into  womanhood,  upon  which 
the  tragedies  of  war  made  many  demands.  She 
surrendered  her  joyousness  and  became  sorrowful; 
and  the  sunshine  of  her  youth  was  obliterated  by  the 
dark  clouds  of  destruction  and  death. 

Her  mother's  father  raised  a  company,  and  among 
the  first  to  volunteer  was  her  mother's  young  French 
lover.  The  young  girl  saw  them  march  away,  her 
father  and  her  sweetheart,  and  she  waited  for  them 

80 


SOME  LETTERS  AND  A  LOAN 

in  vain  under  the  orange-trees,  for  they  never  re- 
turned; and  when  the  stately  old  house  had  been 
burned  to  the  ground,  and  the  devastation  had  been 
complete,  she  fled  with  her  broken-hearted  mother  to 
New  Orleans.  A  few  years  later  she  found  herself 
almost  alone  in  the  world,  for  her  mother  died,  and 
after  a  time  she  yielded  to  the  advice  of  friends  and 
the  counsel  of  relatives  and  the  earnest  pleadings  of 
a  new  lover  and  married  him.  He  was  not  a  ro- 
mantic, ardent  young  Frenchman.  He  was  a  wid- 
ower, twice  her  age,  with  relatives  back  in  Kentucky 
who  were  not  by  any  means  overjoyed  at  the  news 
of  his  marriage  to  the  young  Frenchwoman.  So 
William  Trent  yielded  to  the  wishes  of  his  wife  and 
stayed  in  Louisiana,  where  Amelie  had  been  born 
twenty-eight  years  ago.  She  was  just  nine  years  old 
when  her  mother  died,  and  then  followed  that  long 
period  of  her  life  spent  in  the  boarding-school. 

Sitting  there  sewing  on  Jeanne's  white  dress  that 
Summer  morning,  she  went  over  all  of  these  events 
in  her  mind,  and  that  night  she  opened  her  mother's 
old  cedar  chest,  that  she  had  kept  through  all  of 
these  years,  and  took  out  a  package  of  letters.  From 
under  the  faded  ribbon  she  drew  one  that  especially 
interested  her  to-night,  for  it  was  the  only  memento 
that  her  mother  had  kept  of  her  French  lover.  This 
was  dated  from  a  Northern  prison,  and  was  the  first 

81 


RECORD  NO. 


and  only  letter  written  to  her  by  her  sweetheart 
after  he  marched  away  that  morning  and  left  her 
standing  broken-hearted  under  the  orange-trees  of 
her  plantation  home. 

Amelie  scanned  the  faded  lines.  How  very,  very 
strange  it  was  that  this  lover  in  the  long  ago,  lan- 
guishing in  a  prison  of  the  far  North,  should  have 
written  to  her  mother  down  under  the  orange-trees 
these  words: 

When  I  close  my  eyes  these  dismal  prison  walls  fade 
away  and  I  see  only  you,  standing  there  with  a  dream  in 
your  blue  eyes!  I  can  smell  the  jessamine  that  you  wore  in 
your  hair  the  last  delightful  evening  I  was  with  you  on  the 
dark  murmuring  river  with  its  mystic  lights  and  shadows! 
But  one  thought  sustains  me  in  these  trying  hours  and  that 
is  that,  if  God  spares  me,  I  shall  return  to  you  and  home 
and  happiness  down  in  our  dear  Louisiana. 

At  the  end  she  read  the  initials  of  this  French  sol- 
dier-lover, whose  name  she  had  never  known,  "C. 
M." 

And  then  she  folded  the  letter  and  wrapped  it 
again  in  its  faded  cover  of  tissue  paper.  But  she 
did  not  put  it  back  in  the  old  chest.  Somehow  she 
felt  that  it  was  a  link,  frail  and  indistinct  it  is  true, 
to  the  present;  so  she  laid  it  away  in  her  mother's 
old  writing-desk,  and  then  she  turned  to  the  machine 
on  the  closet  shelf  and  heard  the  Professor  say,  in 

82 


SOME  LETTERS  AND  A  LOAN 

his  beautiful  French,  that  he  longed  for  the  mag- 
nolias and  the  jessamine  and  the  roses,  and — "home 
and  love." 

Then  she  went  out  on  the  little  porch  and  sat  in 
the  perfumed  stillness  of  the  Summer  night  under 
the  soft  silvery  stars,  and  there  she  finally  made 
up  her  mind  to  do  what  she  had  been  thinking  of 
doing  for  many  days. 

Next  day  Mr.  Robert  Cartwright  hitched  his 
horse  at  her  gate  and  came  nervously  up  the  long 
flower-fringed  aisle  of  her  little  cathedral  garden. 

Mr.  Robert  Cartwright  was  president  of  the  First 
National  Bank  of  Merryville,  and  was  known  as  the 
richest  man  in  the  county.  He  had  been  an  intimate 
friend  of  the  Trent  family  all  his  life,  and  had 
looked  after  the  Trent's  affairs  in  Merryville  almost 
ever  since  he  could  remember.  He  had  been  admin- 
istrator of  Miss  Mary  Trent's  estate  and  had  con- 
sidered Amelie  his  especial  ward  ever  since  her 
father,  his  boyhood  friend,  had  died.  Mr.  Cart- 
wright was  well  past  seventy,  but  his  mind  had  lost 
none  of  its  keenness  and  his  judgment  none  of  its 
sureness. 

"Mr.  Cartwright,"  Amelie  began,  when  he  had 
been  seated  in  the  little  pink-and-white  sitting-room, 
"I  need  five  hundred  dollars.  How  is  the  best  way 
for  me  to  get  it?" 

83 


RECORD  NO.  S3 


Mr.  Cartwright  looked  at  her  searchingly.  He 
was  not  a  man  to  show  surprise. 

"Five  hundred  dollars,"  he  repeated  jerkily,  and 
he  shifted  his  position  in  the  big  rocking-chair  and 
coughed  slightly. 

"Yes,  and  I  want  to  get  it  right  away."  She  was 
quite  business-like  and  firm. 

"You  don't  think  you  have  five  hundred  dollars, 
do  you?"  And  he  shot  two  or  three  quick  glances 
in  her  direction. 

"No,  not  exactly,"  she  answered;  "but  I  was  won- 
dering if  you  couldn't  get  it  for  me  some  way." 

"There  are  only  three  ways  to  get  money  when 
you  haven't  got  it,"  he  said  quickly;  "that  is,  to  get 
it  honestly — beg  it,  borrow  it,  or  make  it.  I  take 
it  that  a  Trent  wouldn't  be  apt  to  beg  it.  I  don't 
know  how  you'd  go  about  making  it,  and  I  couldn't 
give  my  consent  to  your  borrowing  it." 

"I  had  thought,"  she  continued,  without  exactly 
taking  account  of  his  remark,  "that  I  might  mort- 
gage either  this  place  or  the  other  one." 

"I  hate  the  word,"  he  put  in  hastily.  "That's 
what  brought  your  father  down  to  where  he  was; 
that's  what's  landed  every  one  of  the  Trents  where 
they're  at  right  now;  it's  what's  been  the  ruination 
of  more  people  than  anything  in  the  world,  that  one 
little  word,  'mortgage.'  Miss  Amelie,  I've  always 

84 


SOME  LETTERS  AND  A  LOAN 

tried  to  be  a  friend  of  yours,  and  I've  always  tried 
to  advise  you  to  your  best  interests,  but  I  can't  see 
my  way  clear  to  allow  you — that  is,  to  consent  to 
your  borrowing  money.  Is  it  highly  important  that 
you  have  five  hundred  dollars?  That's  a  heap  of 
money — more  money  than  I  spend  in  a  year  for 
everything  I  eat,  have,  and  wear." 

Amelie  looked  at  the  hard,  seamed  face,  and  she 
knew  that  he  spoke  the  truth. 

"Yes,  I  consider  that  it  is  highly  important  that  I 
have  the  money.  There's  no  use  in  my  keeping  any- 
thing from  you,  Mr.  Cartwright.  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  to  leave  Merryville  for  a  while,  perhaps 
for  several  months,  and  I  will  need  money  to  travel 
on  and  money  to  live  on  while  I  am  gone." 

"Travel!"  And  Mr.  Cartwright  grunted  in  dis- 
gust. "So  that's  what  you  want  with  it,  is  it?  Well, 
I  can  draw  a  check  for  fifty  thousand  dollars,  but  I 
have  been  out  of  Merryville  just  three  times  since 
the  Civil  War,  and  I  reckon  I  get  along  about  as 
well  as  the  most  of  them."  Then  a  silence  fell  be- 
tween them. 

"Miss  Amelie,"  and  his  voice  grew  a  little  softer, 
"I  am  going  to  talk  mighty  plain  to  you,  and  I  don't 
want  you  to  be  offended  with  me.  There's  been  a 
good  deal  of  talk  going  around  about  you  lately." 

"Talk  about  me!"  she  said,  startled,  although  he 
85 


RECORD  NO.  33 


was  saying  nothing  that  she  did  not  already  know. 
The  memory  of  Brother  Nelson's  visit,  the  prayer, 
the  sermon  at  the  little  church  that  morning,  Mrs. 
Adams'  remark,  and  Minnie  Martin's  cutting  words, 
all  flashed  over  her  in  the  moment  that  she  waited 
for  him  to  speak. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  kindly  for  him,  for  gentleness  was 
not  one  of  Mr.  Robert  Cartwright's  characteristics. 
"Of  course,  you  know  people  have  always  said  you 
were  a  little  curious  because  you  are  different  from 
them — more  like  your  mother's  people — and  of  late 
they  have  been  saying  they  thought  you  were  a  little 
nervous  and  peculiar,  and — well — some  have  even 
gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  they  believed  your  mind 
was  going  back  on  you." 

Amelie  winced,  and,  though  she  had  tried  to  steel 
herself  against  such  as  this,  she  was  deeply  wounded. 
Her  mind  going  back  on  her!  So  that  is  what  they 
thought!  Faintly,  she  was  beginning  to  understand 
some  of  the  things  that  had  puzzled  her  before.  She 
felt  alternately  like  laughing  and  crying.  In  one  way 
she  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  relief  and  in  another 
she  was  resentful  and  almost  angry.  There  was 
not  exactly  any  disgrace  in  being  weak-minded  or 
partially  insane,  and  still  there  was  nothing  particu- 
larly creditable  about  such  a  state,  either.  Perhaps 
they  thought  "living  alone"  had  proved  too  great  a 

86 


SOME  LETTERS  AND  A  LOAN 

strain!  And  this  time  she  wanted  to  laugh.  Then 
she  thought  for  a  moment  that  perhaps  she  had 
better  tell  them.  In  fact,  a  question  rose  into  her 
mind  as  to  the  wisdom  of  telling  Mr.  Cartwright, 
right  then  and  there,  all  about  the  Professor.  She 
hesitated,  wavered,  almost  decided. 

Then  the  spell  of  the  dream  enveloped  her  again. 
She  was  fascinated  by  its  mystery;  she  was  lured  by 
the  novelty,  the  almost  impossibility  of  her  plan;  she 
was  held  captive  by  the  magic  of  her  dream  love. 
To  tell  it  all  was  to  spoil  it  all.  She  grew  indifferent, 
almost  reckless  again,  concerning  everything  exter- 
nal, everything  that  did  not  come  within  the  mystic 
circle  of  her  dream.  The  first  flash  of  pained  sur- 
prise swept  over  her  and  left  her  amused.  So,  when 
Mr.  Cartwright  looked  up  again,  he  found  her  smil- 
ing. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I  am  nervous,  I  suppose,  and 
that  is  just  why  I  need  a  change.  That  is  why  I 
want  to  go  away."  Then  she  added,  a  trifle  apolo- 
getically, "but  I  am  considered  harmless,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

But  Mr.  Cartwright  went  straight  on,  following 
his  own  line  of  thought:  "A  foolish  story  is  going 
around  about  this  place  being  haunted,  and  most 
people  think  that  is  what  has  disturbed  you.  I  don't 
take  stock  in  such  things  myself,  but  I  did  hear  what 

87 


RECORD  NO.  33 


sounded  like  the  far-off  voice  of  an  Indian,  when  I 
was  passing  here  late  one  moonlight  night  about  a 
month  ago.  There  was  a  light  in  this  room,  though 
the  shades  were  drawn.  I  wondered  if  you  heard 
it,  and  if  you  were  not  afraid.  Of  course,  it  may 
have  been  my  imagination,"  he  added,  as  if  in  apol- 
ogy, and  then  he  waited  for  her  to  speak. 

"No,  I  have  never  heard  any  Indian  voice,"  she 
replied  evasively.  And  he  went  on. 

"I  have  alw'ays  found  you  to  be  a  sensible,  practi- 
cal, economical  woman,  but  if  you  really  mean  that 
you  want  to  borrow  five  hundred  dollars  to  go  travel- 
ing on — just  skylarking  around  the  country  for  noth- 
ing in  the  world  but  to  be  gadding — well,  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  the  truth.  I'm  uneasy  about  you.  Now, 
of  course,  I  can  let  you  have  the  money  and  take  a 
mortgage  on  either  one  of  these  places,  but  it's 
against  my  judgment."  Then,  after  a  pause,  during 
which  he  looked  worried,  he  said:  "Do  you  know 
where  you  want  to  go?" 

Amelie  smiled. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Cartwright.  I  am  homesick.  I  want 
to  go  back  to  my  old  home  in  Louisiana.  You  can't 
understand  it,  of  course,  because  you  have  lived  here 
all  of  your  life,  and  all  of  your  ties  and  associations 
are  here,  and  you  haven't  anything  or  anybody  to 
pull  your  heart  away.  But  you  know  this  has  never 


SOME  LETTERS  AND  A  LOAN 

been  home  to  me  until  the  last  few  years.  I  have 
lived  a  more  or  less  lonely  life.  This  is  a  dear,  sweet 
little  place,  and  I  love  it,  and  I  should  hate  to  think 
that  I  couldn't  come  back  to  it  and  live  in  it  the  rest 
of  my  life — after — well,  after  I  have  been  away  for 
a  while.  I  am  homesick  for  the  magnolias  and  the 
jessamine  and  the  roses  down  in  Louisiana,  and  for 
the  water  with  the  starlight  on  it  and  the  orange- 
trees  and  all  that."  Unconsciously  she  was  quoting 
from  the  faded  letter  in  her  mother's  old  writing- 
desk  and  from  Record  No.  33.  "But  first  I  am  go- 
ing to  New  York  on  some  business." 

Mr.  Cartwright  couldn't  get  her  viewpoint  at  all. 
The  conviction  was  evidently  growing  with  him  that 
she  was  not  right  in  her  mind. 

"While  I  have  no  legal  right  whatever  to  say  you 
shall  or  you  sha'n't,"  he  said,  "I  feel  a  deep  interest 
in  you,  and  I  feel  that  I  would  not  be  loyal  to  Wil- 
liam Trent — and  I  loved  him  like  a  brother — if  I  did 
not  use  what  influence  I  have  to  keep  you  from  doing 
a  very  unwise  and  foolish  thing." 

"I  can't  see  why  it  is  so  foolish,"  persisted  Amelie. 
"I  absolutely  own  these  two  places.  They're  worth 
several  thousand  dollars  each.  I  have  one  rented  by 
the  year  and  this  is  enough  for  me  to  live  on.  Be- 
sides, I  can  always  make  some  money  by  teaching, 
and,  even  if  I  do  spend  all  of  this  five  hundred  dol- 

89 


RECORD  NO.  33 


lars,  or  if  I  have  to  sell  one  of  my  places  to  pay  the 
money  back,  I  could  get  along  for  the  rest  of  my 
life.  I've  been  thinking  a  great  deal  of  late,  Mr. 
Cartwright;  I've  been  thinking  over  my  whole  life. 
I  have  never  expressed  my  real  feelings;  I  have 
never  done  the  things  I  wanted  to  do.  I  lived  for 
years  in  the  boarding-school,  with  nobody  to  love 
me  and  nobody  to  care  whether  I  lived  or  died.  As 
young  and  inexperienced  as  I  was,  I  can  remember 
feeling  at  times  that  nobody  cared  what  happened 
to  me.  I  had  no  joys  of  my  own,  and  I  had  no 
sorrows,  for  I  didn't  love  anybody  with  the  kind  of 
love  that  makes  people  glad  and  sorry.  I  fed  my 
soul  on  the  joys  and  the  sorrows  of  others.  I  lived 
by  reflection.  I  was  born  with  a  happy  heart  and 
a  contented  mind,  but  I  haven't  had  a  chance,  and 
there  is  something  in  me  that  longs  to  express  itself 
at  times  in  these  days — something  that  I  don't  feel 
able  to  resist.  When  I  graduated  it  was  borne  in. 
upon  my  consciousness  that  I  possessed  nothing,  that 
what  I  would  have  in  future  I  must  earn  myself.  I 
didn't  want  to  work.  I  was  young  and  full  of  sup- 
pressed spirits  and  strangled  joyousness;  but  I  taught 
in  a  country  school!  Bright  and  joyous  that  was, 
now,  wasn't  it? 

"And  then,  did  I  choose  to  come  here  and  live? 
Certainly  not !    I  have  never  chosen  to  do  anything. 

90 


SOME  LETTERS  AND  A  LOAN 

My  life  has  been  chosen  for  me.  If  the  neighbors 
wish  to  think  me  crazy,  I  can't  help  it,  but  for  one 
time  in  my  life  I  am  going  to  choose  what  I  shall  do, 
and  I  choose  to  take  a  trip.  I  may  not  like  it.  I  may 
get  tired  and  homesick  for  this  little  home,  for  I  love 
it  very  much.  If  I  do,  I  will  come  back,  but  if 
I  don't,  I  shall  stay  as  long  as  I  please."  Amelie's 
face  was  flushed,  and  she  was  speaking  with  convic- 
tion. Her  courage  was  increasing.  "I  do  not  be- 
lieve with  the  Orientals  that  we  are  born  with  our 
Fate  about  our  necks.  I  believe  that  I  am  captain 
of  my  soul,  and  there  is  no  use  for  you  to  argue  with 
me.  I've  made  up  my  mind  I  am  going." 

Mr.  Cartwright  heard  this  speech  in  thoughtful 
silence,  and  he  gave  no  outward  sign  of  his  feelings 
except  to  tap  his  dusty  boot  sharply  with  his  riding- 
whip.  Amelie  stood  before  him  now,  determined, 
almost  defiant.  She  clasped  her  hands  in  front  of 
her  and  looked  straight  into  his  hard  face  while 
waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

"I  hate  to  see  you  do  it!"  he  said  regretfully,  and 
then  he  struck  his  boot  again  with  his  whip,  almost 
viciously,  and  repeated.  "I  hate  to  see  you  do  it, 
but,"  he  added,  "if  you  are  determined — why,  I  have 
no  power  to  prevent  you.  I  can  only  advise  you.  If 
you  must  have  the  money,  I  guess  I  can  let  you  have 
it  at  six  per  cent." 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"I  am  determined,"  she  said,  feeling  better  now, 
"and  I  should  like  you  to  fix  up  the  papers  and  ar- 
range things  for  me  right  away.  And  I  want  to  ask 
you  especially  not  to  mention  it  to  anyone." 

"Business  is  business,"  Mr.  Cartwright  responded, 
more  cheerful  himself  now,  "and  I  never  talk  about 
other  people's  business,  or  my  own.  I'll  fix  it  up  for 
you,  but  I  repeat  I  hate  to  see  you  do  it.  Mortgages 
have  always  been  dangerous  to  the  Trents." 

And  he  rode  away. 

Amelie  had  made  up  her  mind,  and  within  a  few 
days  she  was  going  to  start  on  her  quest  for  the 
Professor. 


CHAPTER  VII 


IMMEDIATELY  Amelie  began  to  make  prepar- 
ations for  her  strange  journey,  and  no  sooner 
were  these  preparations  begun  than  news  of 
her  proposed  trip  flew  over  the  town.  She  was  the 
center  of  interest,  especially  among  the  neighbors, 
when  it  was  learned  that  she  was  going  to  New 
York.  Not  that  Merryville  felt  or  expressed  any 
surprise.  Merryville  had  long  passed  that  stage, 
and  was  wholly  immune  to  surprises  wherever  she 
was  concerned.  But  Aunt  Mirandy  came  up  bright 
and  early  with  one  dollar  and  ninety-eight  cents 
wrapped  tightly  in  a  little  advertisement  cut  out  of  a 
magazine.  Amelie  saw  that  it  set  forth  by  means  of 
a  picture  and  well-worded  sentences  the  attractions 
of  a  ladies'  skirt,  the  "real  value"  of  which  was 
stated  to  be  seven  dollars  and  fifty  cents.  Aunt  Mi- 
randy  said  her  "white  folks  'lowed"  this  skirt  could 
be  procured  in  New  York,  and  she  thought  if  she 
could  "git  it  fotch  by  hand"  it  would  save  transpor- 

93 


RECORD  NO.  33 


tation  charges.  When  questioned  about  the  color, 
she  said:  "Suit  y'own  taste,  Miss;  jes'  git  one  fitten 
fer  a  settled  lady." 

The  milliner  of  the  town  wanted  her  to  "pick  up 
some  bargains"  for  her  fall  trade;  Mrs.  Adams  was 
anxious  to  know  whether  the  new  skirts  would  be 
"skimp  or  full,"  and  Minnie  Martin  came  over  with 
the  "Mammoth  Mail  Order  Catalogue"  in  her  hand, 
to  ask  a  "special  favor."  She  wished  Amelie  to  in- 
spect the  nineteen-cent  embroidery,  and  see  if  it  was 
any  better  than  she  could  get  in  Merryville  at  the 
same  price,  and,  if  so,  she  wanted  three  and  a  half 
yards.  She  brought  along  a  "petticote"  with  the 
Merryville  brand  on  it,  so  that  Amelie  could  fix  the 
quality  in  her  mind.  Merryville  forgot  its  curiosity, 
and  even  Minnie  Martin  said:  "That  poor  little 
thing  has  stayed  by  herself  so  long  her  nerves  has 
got  on  aidge.  She  needs  a  change."  And  Mrs. 
Adams  brought  up  a  shoebox  filled  with  fried 
chicken,  beaten  biscuit,  jelly  and  pickle,  for  her  to 
take  along  for  lunch  on  the  train. 

Aunt  Narcisse  was  all  excitement.  For  some  time 
Amelie  had  realized  that  she,  too,  was  homesick  for 
Louisiana,  and  so  she  arranged  for  her  to  leave  the 
same  day  for  a  visit  to  her  grandchildren  in  New 
Orleans.  Even  to  her  Amelie  had  given  no  hint  of 
the  real  import  of  her  trip. 

94 


SYMPATHY  AND  RED  WINGS 

As  for  herself,  she  was  not  reasoning  much  in 
those  days.  She  was  only  obeying  impulses,  follow- 
ing her  intuition  and  harkening  to  voices,  distant  and 
yet  clear,  that  seemed  to  speak  to  the  depths  of  her 
being.  Suddenly  all  discontent,  all  shadows,  all  wor- 
ries, seemed  to  fall  away  from  her,  and  she  felt  no 
physical  consciousness.  She  had  even  forgotten  the 
prayer  and  the  sermon  and  Mrs.  Adams  and  Minnie 
Martin.  These  only  rippled  on  the  surface  of  her 
existence,  but  did  not  stir  its  deeper  pools  of  feeling. 

She  had  determined  that  she  would  go  first  to 
New  York,  because  she  felt  impelled  to  go  in  that 
direction.  The  machine  had  come  from  New  York, 
the  record  had  been  made  there,  and  certainly  her 
Professor  must  be  there. 

Bluebell  and  the  flowers  were  committed  to 
Jeanne's  kindly  care,  and  the  little  white  cottage 
looked  empty  and  forlorn,  after  many  of  the  fa- 
miliar things  had  been  covered  or  put  away  by  Aunt 
Narcisse. 

The  last  night  she  was  at  home  just  a  little  sud- 
den fear  came  to  her.  After  all,  was  Mr.  Cart- 
wright  right?  Was  not  this  an  altogether  foolish 
quest? 

Then  she  went  over  and  stood  before  her  favorite 
picture,  "The  Temptation,"  the  picture  that  had  ex- 
erted a  mystic,  half-understood  influence  over  her 

95 


RECORD  NO.  33 


life.  She  remembered  she  had  seen  it  first  in  the 
library  of  her  mother's  home.  Young  as  she  was,  it 
had  impressed  her,  and  as  a  child  she  had  stood  and 
gazed  at  it,  without  understanding,  fascinated,  and 
yet  half  afraid. 

Even  now  she  did  not  know  why,  but  she  stood 
before  it  for  some  minutes,  contemplating  the  bar- 
ren waste  on  the  mountain  top,  the  gleams  of  glory 
in  the  distance,  and  Satan  with  his  tempting  gesture 
to  the  Divine  One. 

Once  more  in  the  hush  of  the  midnight  hour,  and 
for  the  last  time  for  a  long  while  to  come,  as  she 
knew,  she  heard  the  voice  of  the  Professor  saying 
all  of  the  beautiful  things  she  so  loved  to  hear. 
Then  she  almost  hugged  the  box  from  an  overflow 
of  happiness,  and  she  said: 

"I  am  going  to  look  for  you,  my  dear  Professor, 
and  I  feel,  I  know,  that  somewhere,  sometime,  some- 
how, I  shall  find  you." 

At  last  the  little  white  cottage  was  closed  and 
Amelie  walked  down  the  aisle  of  her  cathedral  gar- 
den with  her  Professor  at  her  side — in  her  grip,  it  is 
true — almost  as  happy  as  a  youthful  bride.  She 
could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  leave  either  the  little 
machine  nor  the  precious  Record  No.  33.  Very 
gayly,  indeed,  the  garden  was  decked  for  this  mo- 
mentous occasion.  A  tangle  of  sweet  alyssum  out- 

96 


SYMPATHY  AND  RED  WINGS 

lined  the  pathways  in  its  cool  fragrant  beauty;  pe- 
tunias and  poppies  and  hollyhocks  occupied  their  ac- 
customed pews  down  and  across  the  garden,  while 
tall  gladiolas,  brilliant  and  stately,  lent  a  peculiar 
dignity  to  the  whole.  And  over  it  all  the  old  syca- 
more tree,  wonderfully  and  luxuriantly  clothed  now, 
shed  a  friendly  shade,  while  in  among  its  thick 
branches  the  birds  caroled  sweetly  on  that  October 
morning. 

She  had  that  vague,  undefined  feminine  idea  that 
when  she  should  finally  burst  upon  the  vision  of  New 
York  she  must  look  her  best,  and  she  had  given  her- 
self up  to  thoughts  of  preparations  for  the  trip  with 
as  much  interest  as  if  she  were  fully  expecting  the 
French  Professor  to  meet  her  in  the  railway  sta- 
tion. 

She  had  decided  to  stop  for  a  few  days  in  Louis- 
ville%  where  she  would  make  some  final  purchases  in 
preparation  for  the  trip,  and  almost  every  friend 
who  came  to  see  her  off  at  the  little  railway  station  in 
Merryville  had  some  commission  for  her,  either  in 
Louisville  or  New  York.  At  the  very  last  minute 
Kitty  Mather,  Jeanne's  mother,  ran  up,  all  out  of 
breath,  to  bring  a  sample  of  gray  wool  which  she 
wanted  matched,  and  old  Mrs.  Martin  telephoned 
the  ticket  agent  to  tell  her  to  be  sure  not  to  forget 
the  D.  M.  C.  cotton  No.  36,  as  she  couldn't  finish 

97 


RECORD  NO.  33 


her  hairpin  trimming  for  Nina  Patten's  baby's  dress 
until  she  got  it. 

At  a  junction  an  hour's  ride  from  Merryville 
Amelie  bade  Aunt  Narcisse  an  affectionate  farewell, 
promising  to  write  and  to  come  to  New  Orleans  to 
bring  her  back  home. 

Next  day  she  arrived  in  Louisville,  and  stood  gaz- 
ing with  pure  delight  and  nagging  temptation  at  a 
pair  of  dark-red  wings  attractively  displayed  in  one 
of  Louisville's  most  beautiful  shop  windows.  They 
were  just  the  color  of  the  breast  of  the  robin  who 
came  every  year  and  sang  in  the  old  sycamore-tree  in 
her  cathedral  garden,  and  there  had  come  to  her  a 
longing  for  something  bright  and  cheerful,  instead 
of  the  dismal  grays  and  browns  and  the  plain  things 
she  had  been  wearing  for  so  many  years.  As  if  in 
answer  to  the  longing,  these  lovely  wings  caught  her 
eye  and  ensnared  her  fancy.  When  she  reflected  on 
the  probable  price,  she  looked  away,  and  when  the 
thought  of  Mr.  Cartwright  followed,  she  would 
walk  on  and  try  to  look  and  feel  indifferent  to  the  red 
wings.  But  she  had  a  vivid  picture  of  how  they 
would  look  on  her  black  chip  hat  of  last  year.  Some- 
how they  seemed  an  external  expression  of  a  little 
note  of  joy  that  had  been  ringing  in  her  heart,  and 
she  wanted  them. 

She  almost  laughed  to  think  of  what  Merryville, 
98 


SYMPATHY  AND  RED  WINGS 

individually  and  collectively,  would  say  if  she  were 
to  appear  at  church  some  Sabbath  morning  with 
those  red  wings  on  her  hat!  She  knew  that  if  she 
should  they  would  consider  that  the  evidence  of  her 
insanity  was  complete.  Several  times  she  looked  at 
the  wings;  several  times  her  heart  failed  her,  and  she 
passed  on,  but  just  as  often  she  went  back  and  again 
stood  admiringly  before  that  tempting  show  win- 
dow. 

Frail  little  atom  of  femininity,  standing  there  fas- 
cinated, worrying  her  pretty  head  about  whether  she 
should  buy  the  wings  or  not!  How  little  did  she 
realize  that  New  York  would  not  care  whether  she 
appeared  in  red  or  green,  blue  or  brown ! 

What  a  pity  she  was  so  soon  to  lose  perspective ! 
How  sad  that  the  things  that  loomed  so  bright,  so 
vivid,  so  beautiful  in  her  dreams  now  were  to  be  so 
swiftly  and  so  cruelly  painted  out,  obliterated !  How 
tragic  that  the  background  was  to  become  the  fore- 
ground and  that  every  detail  of  her  own  dream  pic- 
ture would  be  lost  in  the  mass  of  conglomerated 
color  and  detail  when  she  would  be  standing  almost 
at  the  edge  of  the  canvas  I 

Hitherto  the  pictures  in  the  galleries  of  her  soul 
had  been  hung,  as  all  great  pictures  should  be  hung, 
where  they  reflect  the  light  from  above.  But  now 
the  side  walls  were  to  be  torn  away,  the  garish  light 

99 


RECORD  NO.  33 


of  the  burning  day  was  to  search  her  treasures  and 
reveal  harsh  lines,  cracks  in  the  canvas,  and  ugly 
details  heretofore  unseen.  The  entire  setting  was 
to  be  changed! 

Amelie  sat  that  night  in  the  hall  bedroom  of  the 
boarding-house  where  Merryvillians  who  came  to 
Louisville  always  stopped,  and  ripped  the  black-and- 
white  ribbon  bow  off  her  black  chip  hat.  Then  she 
tried  to  forget  the  red  wings,  and  she  pinned  her 
entire  stock  of  millinery  on  the  hat  in  various  ways, 
trying  to  see  herself  in  the  small  mirror  as  New 
York  would  see  her. 

"May  I  come  in  a  minute?"  and  a  pleasant  face 
peeped  in  at  the  half-open  door.  For  the  moment 
Amelie  couldn't  think  of  her  name,  but  she  remem- 
bered that  the  landlady  had  told  her  that  morning 
that  she  was  the  head  lady  at  the  Bloom-Rose  Milli- 
nery Store,  so  she  quickly  raked  all  of  her  millinery 
stock  into  a  box  and  pushed  it  under  the  bed,  trying 
meanwhile  to  be  as  cordial  as  circumstances  would 
permit. 

Then  she  saw  that  the  black  chip  and  the  black- 
and-white  bow,  lying  limp  and  forlorn  by  its  side, 
had  been  left  out,  and  so  she  made  a  clean  breast 
of  it. 

"I'm  in  trouble  about  a  hat,"  she  said  honestly. 
"This  is  a  becoming  shape,  I  think,  but  I  am  going 

100 


SYMPATHY  AND  RED  WINGS 

to  New  York,  and  I  can't  go  with  this  dilapidated 
black-and-white  bow  on  it.  I  had  been  thinking 
something  of  getting  a  pair  of  dark-red  wings — 
something  like  those  I  saw  in  a  window  at  your  store 
this  morning.  I  thought  they  might  brighten  it  up." 

The  head  lady  picked  up  the  rather  shabby  hat, 
and  spun  it  around  professionally  on  her  plump, 
white  fingers,  eyeing  it  sideways  as  she  did  so.  Then 
she  put  it  on  Amelie's  head  and  contemplated  her  for 
a  full  moment  with  the  air  of  an  expert. 

"Now  the  lines  of  that  hat  are  not  bad,"  she  said 
consolingly.  She  was  just  that  sort,  helpful  and  en- 
couraging. If  she  really  thought  the  hat  looked  pa- 
thetic above  the  fair  white  face  she  did  not  say  so. 

"I've  got  the  very  thing  you  need  for  that  hat," 
she  said,  after  a  thoughtful  pause.  "You  come  down 
to  the  store  in  the  morning  and  I'll  fix  you  up.  I 
can  almost  give  you  the  stuff  now — it's  late  in  the 
season,  you  know.  Anyway,  you  come  down.  I  am 
sure  I  can  fix  you  up." 

Before  she  went  to  sleep  that  night,  Amelie  firmly 
resolved  to  go  down  in  the  morning  and  let  the  head 
lady  "fix  her  up" — Mr.  Cartwright  notwithstanding, 
and  in  her  dreams  the  red  wings  in  the  window  grad- 
ually began  to  move,  the  gaudy  show  window  be- 
came her  cathedral-garden,  and  she  saw  the  robin 
in  the  old  sycamore-tree. 

101 


RECORD  NO.  33 


When  she  went  to  the  big  Bloom-Rose  Millinery 
Store  next  morning,  the  head  lady  was  busy  with  a 
pretty  blond  customer,  but  she  greeted  her  new 
friend  cordially  and  kept  her  encouraged  through 
the  long  and  wearisome  wait  by  frequent  remarks, 
whispered  en  passant. 

"Just  wait  a  few  minutes.  I'll  be  through  in  a 
minute,"  she  would  say,  as  she  held  two  "Parisian 
models"  in  her  hands. 

The  head  lady  was  the  personification  of  patience 
and  tact,  and  Amelie  watched  her  try  on  big  hats  and 
little  hats  and  red,  white  and  blue  hats,  none  of 
which  won  any  show  of  pleasure  from  the  pretty 
face  under  the  blond  hair. 

But  she  conquered  her  customer  as  a  Japanese 
wrestler  conquers  his  opponent,  by  giving  way  at 
every  turn. 

"No,  I  don't  like  you  in  that,  either,"  she  would 
say,  when  she  saw  her  customer  was  not  pleased,  and 
off  she  would  go  to  bring  another  "model." 

"My,  what  an  awful  lot  of  millinery  sins  are  laid 
at  the  door  of  the  French,"  thought  Amelie,  as  she 
contemplated  a  wonderful  "creation"  characterized 
as  the  "latest  from  Paris,"  and  which  was  indeed 
fearfully  and  wonderfully  constructed.  "Extremely 
Frenchy,"  and  "a  little  darling,"  and  "an  imported 
creation,"  were  some  of  the  affectionate  terms  in 

102 


SYMPATHY  AND  RED  WINGS 

which   the    head   lady   referred   to   this   particular 
"model." 

At  last  it  was  her  turn  to  sit  before  the  wonderful 
triple  mirror,  and  it  was  there  on  that  Summer  morn- 
ing that  she  received  the  millinery  thrill  of  her  life. 
The  head  lady  brought  marvelous  hats,  also  accred- 
ited to  Paris,  and  one  by  one  she  tried  them  on 
Amelie's  pretty  brown  head. 

At  last  she  came  with  the  coveted  red  wings.  She 
took  up  the  black  chip,  looking  pathetic  indeed,  now, 
in  comparison  with  the  Bloom-Rose  models.  She 
unpinned  the  black-and-white  ribbon  bow  and  skill- 
fully perched  the  red  wings  on  one  side.  Amelie  had 
to  admit  that  the  hat  immediately  assumed  an  air  of 
aristocracy  unknown  to  it  before,  as  the  head  lady 
set  it  on  her  head,  and  she  almost  fancied  herself 
the  center  of  interest  for  Merryville's  eyes  as  she 
walked  down  the  church  aisle  on  some  Sunday  morn- 
ing of  the  future. 

It  was  with  genuine  fear  and  a  sickening  thought 
of  the  thirty-five  dollars  she  had  seen  her  predeces- 
sor pay  for  a  "model" — to  say  nothing  of  a  sinking 
of  the  heart  when  a  vision  of  Mr.  Cartwright  rose 
before  her — that  she  got  the  courage  to  ask  the  price 
of  the  red  wings  which  looked  so  beguiling  to  her 
sitting  sidewise  in  the  chair  and  viewing  herself  as 
she  would  look  "going." 

103 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"A  regular  ten-dollar  wing,"  said  the  head  lady, 
as  if  she  were  afraid  someone  would  hear,  "but  you 
know  I  told  you  I  would  do  the  right  thing.  It's  get- 
ting late  in  the  season,  you  know.  This  is  a  wing 
you'll  always  be  proud  of,  and  you  can  wear  it  next 
season.  You  can't  wear  a  cheap  wing  two  seasons." 

Ten  dollars !    Amelie  was  too  scared  to  speak. 

When  she  finally  intimated  as  strongly  as  she 
dared  that  the  price  was  too  high,  the  head  lady  said 
a  great  many  things.  She  hadn't  thought  of  charging 
her  that  price ;  she  had  cheaper  wings,  of  course,  but 
they  didn't  suit  her  style.  The  hat  deserved  some- 
thing nicer  than  a  two-dollar  wing — then  she  scanned 
the  little  ticket  attached  to  the  wing  attentively  and 
said  something  again  about  the  lateness  of  the  sea- 
son, wholesale  prices,  and  other  things,  and  finally 
said,  as  if  the  whole  matter  were  at  last  definitely 
settled,  that  she  would  "make"  the  wing  three-fifty 
just  because  she  liked  her. 

Then  she  added : 

"I've  been  in  this  business  all  my  life,  and  you'd 
be  astonished  how  few  people  know  what  suits  them. 
Now  red  is  certainly  your  color.  Your  hair  being 
brown,  and  your  eyes  such  a  dark  blue  and  your 
complexion  fair  with  just  a  touch  of  color — why, 
you  can  wear  this  color  fine.  It's  not  everybody  that 
can,  I'll  tell  you.  But  these  red  wings  just  set  you 

104 


off  and  brighten  you  up.  Why,  you  look  ten  years 
younger  with  that  touch  of  red  on  your  hat." 

Amelie  had  mildly  tried  to  resist  the  wings — to 
make  up  her  mind  to  be  satisfied  with  the  black-and- 
white  ribbon  bow,  but  this  final  stroke  from  the  head 
lady  settled  it  and  a  tired-looking  girl  came  and  took 
her  black  chip  and  red  wings  and  went  away  with 
them,  while  the  head  lady  drew  her  down  on  a  settee 
near  the  window  and  began  talking  to  her. 

"I  wish  I  could  go  to  New  York  with  you,"  she 
began.  "I  may  be  mistaken,"  she  continued,  "but  I 
have  taken  up  an  idea  that  you  are  a  writer.  Am  I 
correct?" 

Amelie  corrected  the  impression  but  appreciated 
the  compliment. 

"That's  really  what  /  want  to  be,"  continued  the 
head  lady.  "To  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  not  satisfied 
here,"  and  Amelie  understood — had  she  not  grown 
dissatisfied  with  her  little  white  cottage  and  the  little 
cathedral  garden  at  Merryville? 

"I  am  going  to  talk  plain  to  you,  because  there  is 
something  about  you  that  I  like.  I  took  a  fancy  to 
you  the  moment  you  came  into  the  dining-room  yes- 
terday morning  and  I  asked  Mrs.  Miller  who  you 
were.  My  folks  never  treated  me  right;  they  never 
gave  me  a  chance.  If  they  had  let  me  do  what  I 
wanted  to  do,  I  know  I  could  have  made  good.  I 

105 


RECORD  NO.  33 


don't  like  the  millinery  business,  and  I  get  awfully 
tired  of  doing  the  same  thing  every  day,  and  every 
day  talking  the  same  old  line  of  dope."  And  Amelie 
heard,  as  if  from  afar  off,  "7  am  'very,  very  tired  of 
talking  to  a  machine  every  day"  and  then  she  came 
back  to  what  the  head  lady  was  saying. 

"What  I  really  want  to  do  is  to  write  poetry. 
When  I  was  ten  years  old  I  began,  and  I  guess  I 
have  written  a  hundred  pieces  of  poetry.  What  I 
really  ought  to  do  is  to  go  to  New  York  and  do  noth- 
ing but  write  poetry.  Mine  is  a  lot  better  than  most 
of  that  I  see  in  the  magazines.  I'm  sick  of  this  milli- 
nery business  and  I'm  going  to  quit  it.  Besides,  there 
is  no  money  in  it.  I've  been  working  here  for  twelve 
years,  and  what  do  you  think  I  get?"  She  waited  a 
moment,  and  then  exclaimed  scornfully:  "  The  meas- 
ley  sum  of  sixty  dollars  a  week!" 

Amelie  merely  repeated  the  words  "sixty  dollars 
a  week"  in  sheer  amazement,  because  she  could  think 
of  nothing  to  say.  But  the  head  lady  misconstrued 
her  astonishment. 

"Yes,  mind  you — sixty  dollars  a  week!  That's 
what  has  decided  me  to  give  up  and  go  to  New 
York  and  write  poetry.  I  would  like  to  see  you 
there.  What  will  your  address  be?" 

Amelie  promised  to  send  her  New  York  address 
and  then  she  left,  carrying  with  her  the  precious  red 

106 


SYMPATHY  AND  RED  WINGS 

wings,  which  she  had  been  convinced  would  furnish 
"just  the  touch  of  color"  she  needed  on  her  black 
chip  to  make  her  look  ten  years  younger.  Four  days 
later  she  arrived  in  New  York. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   FATAL   YELLOW   SLIP 

AMELIE  was  quite  bewildered.  She  stood  on 
the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Thirty-fourth 
Street  and  looked  in  first  one  direction  and 
then  the  other. 

Years  before,  during  her  schoolgirl  days,  she  had 
come  to  New  York  with  fifty  other  girls  and  a  capa- 
ble chaperon.  They  had  stayed  three  whole  delight- 
ful days,  at  the  end  of  which  she  thought  she  fully 
comprehended  New  York.  Surely  they  had  seen 
many  truly  wonderful  things,  and  yet,  to-day,  as  she 
stood  on  that  crowded  corner,  she  realized  that  she 
was  in  a  world  that  was  wholly  new  to  her. 

She  took  from  her  purse  a  strip  of  paper,  upon 
which  an  address  had  been  written,  and,  after  read- 
ing it  again,  she  walked  a  few  steps  down  the  street 
and  scanned  the  numbers  on  the  buildings.  She 
wound  her  way  through  the  crowd  that  was  hurrying 
in  every  direction,  and  sought  the  big  policeman 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  from  whom  she 

108 


THE  FATAL  YELLOW  SLIP 

received  kindly  directions  to  a  certain  office  building. 

In  a  marble-lined  hall  which  led  to  a  row  of  ele- 
vators she  again  hesitated,  and  drew  back  against 
the  wall  while  the  elevator  was  rapidly  being  filled. 
"Going  up  I" 

The  voice  of  the  elevator  man  was  high-pitched 
and  sharp,  and  she  felt  that  his  announcement  was 
aimed  directly  at  her,  so  she  dashed  nervously 
toward  the  door,  just  as  it  was  being  closed.  Dis- 
pleasure and  impatience  was  registered  on  the  face 
of  the  uniformed  manipulator  of  the  door. 

"Step  back,  please,"  he  said  in  the  same  shrill 
tones  to  the  passengers,  who  murmured  their  dis- 
pleasure because  they  were  already  jammed  against 
each  other,  and  Amelie  felt  in  that  moment  of  un- 
certainty as  if  she  would  like  to  run  away  as  fast  as 
ever  she  could.  She  hesitated,  in  doubt  and  embar- 
rassment, as  to  whether  to  push  in  anyway,  or  to  wait 
for  another  car.  Then  someone  stepped  out  of  the 
crowded  car,  lifted  his  hat,  and  indicated  to  her  that 
she  was  expected  to  enter  and  to  occupy  the  limited 
space  in  which  he  had  stood.  This  she  did  mechan- 
ically, and  she  felt  then  and  she  felt  forever  after- 
wards grateful  for  the  act  itself,  and  for  the  kind, 
understanding  look  in  the  quiet  gray  eyes  that  met 
hers  just  for  a  fleeting  moment. 

On  the  tenth  floor  of  the  big  building  there  were 
109 


RECORD  NO.  33 


other  marble-lined  halls,  and  the  numbers  on  the 
doors  perplexed  and  discouraged  her. 

But  at  last  she  was  there.  Her  heart  was  palpitat- 
ing provokingly  as  she  stood  before  the  door,  and 
she  had  to  wait  a  little  to  quiet  her  excitement  some- 
what before  she  gave  a  gentle  knock.  Meantime  she 
had  taken  from  her  purse  a  small  card,  left  from  her 
schooldays.  It  had  been  wrapped  carefully  away  in 
her  mother's  little  old  writing-desk  for  many  years. 
Her  name,  "Miss  Amelie  Trent,"  was  engraved  in 
neat  script  across  the  card,  and  she  had  taken  it  out 
of  the  old  desk  and  planned  in  half  a  dream  for  this 
very  moment  back  in  Merryville  that  night  when 
first  she  had  heard  that  wonderful  Record  No.  33. 

Could  it  be  that  beyond  the  door  before  which  she 
now  stood  her  French  Professor  was  even  then  talk- 
ing into  the  cold,  cruel  machine,  of  which  he  was  so 
tired?  Once  she  thought  she  would  not  knock  at 
the  door  after  all,  and  she  almost  wished  she  was 
back  again  with  Aunt  Narcisse  and  Jeanne  and  Blue- 
bell and  the  flowers.  And  the  Professor!  If  he 
were  only  securely  stationed  on  her  closet  shelf,  in- 
stead of  packed  in  her  grip  in  her  room  at  the 
hotel ! 

But  no,  she  had  gone  thus  far,  and  it  was  not 
like  her  to  turn  back  when  once  she  had  made  up 
her  mind.  So  she  knocked  at  the  door  very  softly. 

no 


THE  FATAL  YELLOW  SLIP 

As  she  did  so  she  thought  how  cold  indeed  were 
the  marble  halls  and  the  frosted  door,  with  its 
straight  black  letters.  No  wonder  her  French  Pro- 
fessor had  wished  for  the  magnolias  and  the  jessa- 
mine and  the  roses  down  in  warm-hearted  Louisiana  I 

Soon  the  door  opened,  and  a  young  man,  with  a 
face  as  cold  as  the  frosted  door  with  its  stiff  black 
letters,  invited  her  to  enter. 

"Whom  do  you  wish  to  see?"  he  inquired  briefly, 
and  in  what  she  thought  was  a  very  rasping  voice, 
and  he  stepped  before  her,  as  if  to  prevent  her  from 
entering  one  step  further  into  the  tiny  little  entrance 
hall. 

"Mr.  Lawrence,"  she  replied  in  her  sweet,  low 
voice  that  contrasted  strikingly  with  that  of  her  ques- 
tioner, and  she  displayed  the  little  card,  so  that  if 
the  cold-faced  young  man  had  been  at  all  inclined  to 
be  observant  he  would  have  seen  it. 

"Fill  this  out,"  he  said  mechanically,  ignoring  her 
card,  and  handing  her  a  slip  of  yellow  paper  with 
some  questions  printed  on  it  and  dotted  lines  left 
blank  for  answers. 

Then  he  pointed  to  a  chair  at  a  desk,  and  she 
looked  at  the  slip  of  yellow  paper,  and  wished  with 
all  her  heart  that  she  was  on  the  other  side  of  that 
door  again. 

"Whom  do  you  wish  to  see?"  was  the  first  ques- 
iii 


RECORD  NO.  33 


tion,  and  she  wrote  in  her  small,  old-fashioned  hand, 
"Mr.  Lawrence." 

"Concerning,"  and  then  there  were  the  dotted 
lines  again  and  a  question  mark,  and  she  hesitated. 
Just  what  should  she  write?  But  there  was  the  cold- 
faced  young  man  waiting  for  her,  and  something 
must  be  done  immediately,  and  so  she  wrote,  "Rec- 
ord No.  33." 

There  were  several  dotted  lines  after  the  word 
"Remarks."  She  could  not  think  of  a  single  remark 
she  wished  to  make  to  Mr.  Lawrence,  and  so  she 
left  those  lines  in  all  their  virgin  blankness,  and 
wrote  her  name,  and  then  "Merryville,  Kentucky," 
and  handed  the  finished  product  to  the  young  man. 

He  turned  to  a  row  of  buttons  on  the  wall  and 
pressed  one  of  them  twice,  glancing  carelessly  as  he 
did  so  at  the  yellow  slip. 

The  coldness  immediately  left  his  face,  and  he 
looked  at  Amelie  quickly  and  then  back  again  at  the 
yellow  slip.  He  was  really  almost  smiling,  and  evi- 
dently somewhat  agitated  when  a  young  woman  with 
a  very  pretty  face  came  in. 

The  cold-faced  young  man  gave  the  pretty-faced 
girl  a  punch  in  the  arm,  as  he  handed  her  the  yellow 
slip,  and  they  looked  at  each  other  in  unfeigned  sur- 
prise. Then  the  girl  looked  at  Amelie  with  an  ex- 
pression of  mingled  interest  and  amusement.  Merry 

112 


THE  FATAL  YELLOW  SLIP 

lights  were  dancing  in  her  blue  eyes  as  she  turned 
and  disappeared  through  the  door  by  which  she  had 
entered. 

Almost  immediately,  it  seemed  to  Amelie,  the 
girl  came  back,  and  she  said  very  sweetly : 

"Mr.  Lawrence  will  see  you  immediately,  Miss 
Trent.  Please  come  with  me." 

Amelie  followed  her  through  long  rooms  in 
which  typewriters  were  clicking  and  men  and  women 
were  busy  at  work.  Then,  before  she  knew  it,  she 
was  in  a  smaller  room,  where  a  man  was  sitting  at  a 
desk  stacked  with  papers  and  letters,  and  arranged 
in  business-like  order. 

The  man  looked  up  as  she  entered,  and  said  pleas- 
antly : 

"Is  this  Miss  Trent?"  and  when  she  nodded  in 
reply,  and  greeted  him,  he  asked  her  to  be  seated, 
and  then  he  said  to  the  sweet-faced  young  woman, 
who  had  already  begun  to  operate  her  typewriter 
very  rapidly: 

"Miss  Warren,  did  you  'phone  for  Mr.  Chal- 
mers?" 

"I  did,  Mr.  Lawrence,"  she  answered,  "and  he 
said  he  would  be  right  over.  He'll  probably  take  an 
L  train  and  get  here  in  a  very  few  moments." 

"I  prefer  to  talk  to  Miss  Trent  only  in  his  pres- 
ence, and  you  will  kindly  take  her  into  my  private 


RECORD  NO.  33 


office.  I  am  sorry  to  keep  you  waiting,  Miss  Trent, 
but  I  think  it  is  best  to  talk  to  you  in  the  presence  of 
Mr.  Chalmers.  Miss  Warren,  show  Miss  Trent 
into  my  private  office,  and  let  me  know  immediately 
when  Mr.  Chalmers  arrives." 

"I  beg  pardon,"  Amelie  began  weakly. 

"Don't  speak,  madame !"  interrupted  Mr.  Law- 
rence dramatically,  raising  his  hand  as  if  to  warn 
her.  "I  beg  of  you  not  to  speak  one  word  except  in 
the  presence  of  Mr.  Chalmers.  He  is  a  very  strange 
man,  as  you  will  realize  when  you  see  him.  While 
I  would  not  say  one  word,  or  do  one  thing  that  would 
influence  you  in  this  affair  between  you  and  him,  he 
is  very  suspicious,  and  he  might  misconstrue  any 
words  of  mine  or  yours,  however  innocent  they  might 
be.  Nothing  could  please  me  more  than  to  see 
everything  arranged  satisfactorily  between  you  and 
Mr.  Chalmers.  I  am  glad  you  came  in  person,  as  it 
would  have  been  difficult,  if  not  altogether  impossi- 
ble, to  have  settled  things  satisfactorily  until  you  had 
seen  each  other  face  to  face.  Confidentially,  Miss 
Trent,"  and  Mr.  Lawrence  lowered  his  voice  and 
spoke  in  confiding  tones,  "  it  will  be  an  immense  re- 
lief to  me  when  it  is  all  settled.  He's  so  wrought 
up  over  it — it's  his  temperament,  you  know — that  he 
can't  attend  to  business  or  think  of  anything  else. 
I'm  sure  you  understand  my  position.  I'd  just  prefer 

114 


THE  FATAL  YELLOW  SLIP 

not  conversing  with  you  on  the  subject  except  in  his 
presence.  I'm  deeply  interested,  I  want  you  to  un- 
derstand that,  and  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  see  that 
everything  turns  out  well  for  you  both." 

Amelie  strove  for  suitable  words  in  which  to  ex- 
press her  indignation  and  amazement,  but  no  words 
framed  themselves  on  her  lips.  Mr.  Lawrence  had 
referred  to  an  "affair"  between  herself  and  Mr. 
Chalmers.  What  could  he  have  meant?  Was  Mr. 
Chalmers  her  French  Professor?  And  did  he  know 
about  her,  and  did  Mr.  Lawrence  know?  She  re- 
fused to  believe  it.  Mr.  Chalmers  was  "strange" 
and  "suspicious."  Mr.  Lawrence  had  admitted  as 
much,  and  certainly  her  Professor  could  not  be — 
and  yet — what  did  she  know  about  him? 

All  of  these  thoughts  chased  through  her  bewil- 
dered brain  as  she  got  up,  almost  as  if  she  had  been 
an  automaton,  and  followed  Miss  Warren  into  a 
handsomely  appointed  office  adjoining  that  in  which 
she  had  been  sitting. 

Fortunately  she  was  left  sitting  there  alone,  for 
if  the  sweet-faced  young  woman  with  the  dancing 
eyes  had  been  there  she  would  certainly  have  unbur- 
dened her  soul  to  her.  And  had  the  slightest  op- 
portunity presented  itself,  she  would  have  at  least 
asked:  Who  was  Mr.  Chalmers,  and  what  did  he 
have  to  do  with  it  all,  anyhow? 


RECORD  NO.  33 


The  moments  since  she  had  entered  that  fatal, 
frosted  door,  behind  which  the  cold-faced  young 
man  seemed  to  have  been  waiting  for  her,  seemed  an 
eternity,  and  she  longed  for  both  physical  and  mental 
escape  from  the  curious  predicament  into  which  she 
had  somehow  been  precipitated. 

Then,  like  a  drift  of  fragrance  from  southern 
roses  borne  on  a  grateful  breeze  to  her  tired  senses, 
there  stole  over  her  consciousness  the  memory  of  a 
fleeting,  haunting  moment — a  moment  of  doubt  and 
embarrassment,  in  which  she  looked  into  quiet  gray 
eyes  and  found  when  she  needed  it  most  the  sugges- 
tion of  sympathy  and  understanding  which  she  had 
always  craved  and  which  she  needed  so  much  in 
these  dreadful  moments — the  crowded  elevator,  the 
cruel  voice  crying,  "Going  up,"  the  amused  smiles  on 
cold  faces,  and  then — the  look  in  those  gray  eyes. 
Presently  this  memory  melted  into  another,  more 
precious,  more  lasting,  even  more  real — the  memory 
of  happy  hours  in  her  own  little  white  cottage  down 
in  Kentucky,  where  she  had  laughed  and  loved  and 
dreamed  with  her  French  Professor!  And  in  that 
little  flick  of  time  while  the  mist  of  precious  dreams 
enveloped  her  she  was  soothed  and  satisfied.  She 
did  not  recognize  nor  realize  the  elegant  emptiness 
of  this  room,  and  the  strange  chilling  chain  of 
events  that  led  and  held  her  here  a  prisoner. 

116 


THE  FATAL  YELLOW  SLIP 

She  was  stupefied  and  numb.  Then  slowly,  very 
slowly,  it  all  came  back  to  her. 

Through  the  open  window  she  saw  the  magic  city, 
from  which  she  seemed  securely  shut  away.  She  did 
not  know  whether  to  be  frightened,  or  amused,  or 
pleased,  but  she  knew  that  if  the  slightest  chance 
for  escape  were  suggested  to  her  she  would  not 
ignore  it.  But  none  came.  She  just  sat  there, 
dazed  and  bewildered,  waiting  for  the  door  to 
open  and  wondering  what  was  going  to  happen 
next. 

"Mr.  Chalmers,"  she  repeated  softly,  "who  is  he 
and  why  is  it  that  I  must  speak  only  in  his  presence?" 
And  she  began  to  wonder  just  what  it  was,  after  all, 
she  was  going  to  say.  She  merely  wanted  to  ask  one 
question,  and  that  was  to  ascertain  if  the  French  Pro- 
fessor was  there,  and  this  one  question  was  the  one 
thing  of  all  things  that  she  particularly  knew  she 
would  not  and  could  not  ask,  and  so  what  was  she 
to  say  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Chalmers?  They  had 
told  her  he  was  strange.  But  how  strange?  This 
question  kept  coming  back  to  her. 

Then  she  thought — but  no,  that  could  not  be. 
Chalmers  was  not  a  French  name,  and  of  course  Mr. 
Chalmers  could  not  be  her  French  Professor.  How- 
ever, this  suggestion  was  persistent.  Had  not  Mr. 
Lawrence  said  that  he  wanted  her  to  speak  in  the 

117 


RECORD  NO.  33 


presence  of  Mr.  Chalmers,  and  could  it  not  be  possi- 
ble that  Mr.  Chalmers  was  the  French  Professor, 
and  that  Mr.  Lawrence  was  going  to  ask  him  to  ex- 
plain and  apologize  for  the  mistake  he  had  made 
in  speaking  for  this  record  something  that  was  not 
in  the  lesson?  And  had  they  not  said  that  she,  too, 
was  strange  and  "curious,"  back  in  Merryville? 
Perhaps  the  French  Professor  was  strange  in  the 
same  way.  Wouldn't  it  be  perfectly  natural  for  a 
man  like  Mr.  Lawrence  to  think  so  just  as  Minnie 
Martin  and  the  rest  of  them  had  thought  she  was 
strange?  And  then,  if  he  had  been  restless  and  up- 
set over  her,  as  she  had  been  over  him  during  these 
last  few  weeks,  wouldn't  it  all  seem  more  wonderful, 
more  splendid  and  beautiful  still? 

One  moment  she  would  be  all  curiosity — was  she 
really  on  the  very  point  of  seeing  the  French  Pro- 
fessor in  the  flesh?  Was  she  within  a  few  moments 
to  be  hearing  his  voice  and  looking  into  his  eyes — 
those  eyes  she  had  so  longed  to  see,  and  that  voice 
that  had  come  to  be  so  dear  to  her?  And  then  the 
next  moment  she  wanted  to  fly  away  from  it  all.  If 
Mr.  Lawrence  proved  to  be  disagreeable,  if  he  was 
to  scold  the  Professor,  and  perhaps  tell  him  that  he 
would  not  be  needed  any  more,  she  simply  couldn't 
stand  it.  She  always  hated  scenes,  and  if  the  Pro- 
fessor had  caused  some  trouble  and  worry  and  in- 

118 


THE  FATAL  YELLOW  SLIP 

convenience  in  this  cold  and  heartless  place  he  had 
given  her  the  very  sweetest  pleasure  she  had  ever 
known,  and  she  could  not  bear  to  see  him  reproved 
for  it — she  just  could  not.  The  longer  she  sat  there 
and  the  more  she  thought,  the  more  firmly  she  be- 
lieved that  when  that  door  opened  her  French  Pro- 
fessor would  walk  in. 

After  what  seemed  to  her  a  very  long  time  Mr. 
Lawrence  came  in  followed  by — the  French  Profes- 
sor? Her  heart  stood  still,  her  dreams  faded,  her 
illusions  vanished,  all  in  one  brief  flash  of  a  mo- 
ment— that  moment  in  which  she  first  set  her  won- 
dering eyes  on  Mr.  Chalmers !  He  was  fat  and  red, 
pudgy  and  perspiring,  excited  and  irritated. 

While  the  Professor  must  surely Oh,  cer- 
tainly this  could  not  be "How  do  you  do,"  he 

was  saying  in  acknowledging  Mr.  Lawrence's  intro- 
duction and  he  took  Amelie's  small  hand  in  his  fat, 
perspiring  one. 

Amelie  resumed  her  seat,  positively  dumb.  Mr. 
Lawrence  sat  down  and  leaned  back  and  regarded 
her  curiously  through  half-closed  eyes.  Mr.  Chal- 
mers drew  up  a  chair  directly  in  front  of  her,  much 
closer  than  was  necessary,  she  thought,  no  matter 
what  the  occasion  was.  Then  he  spread  his  knees 
far  apart,  propped  his  elbow  on  one  of  them,  rested 
his  flabby  chin  in  his  hand  and  looked  her  squarely  in 

119 


RECORD  NO.  33 


the  face  with  his  steely  blue  eyes.  In  the  other  hand 
he  held  a  notebook. 

"Now,  you  live  in — what  did  you  say  was  the 
name  of  the  place?"  he  asked  breathlessly,  and,  as 
he  straightened  up,  he  adjusted  his  glasses,  and  took 
the  yellow  slip,  which  Mr.  Lawrence  handed  him  in 
answer  to  the  question  before  Amelie  got  the  breath 
to  reply. 

"Just  a  moment,  Mr.  Chalmers,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Lawrence  again.  "It  would  be  well  for  us  to  have  a 
record  of  this  conversation.  Miss  Trent,  do  not 
speak  yet."  He  pressed  one  of  the  mysterious  little 
buttons,  and  Miss  Warren  came  in.  She  also  had  a 
notebook.  Mr.  Lawrence  nodded  to  her  and  evi- 
dently interpreting  the  nod,  she  pulled  out  a  leaf 
of  the  desk  and  sat  prepared  to  take  notes. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    FLATTERING   OFFER 

MERRYVILLE— Merryville,  K  e  n  t  u  c  k  y," 
Mr.  Chalmers  repeated  after  her,  glanc- 
ing at  the  yellow  slip,  which  seemed  to 
play  a  very  important  part  in  this  unusual  proceed- 
ing. 

"Fortunately  the  town  is  obscure,"  Mr.  Chalmers 
said  in  a  confidential  voice,  ignoring  Amelie  for  the 
moment,  and  looking  knowingly  at  Mr.  Lawrence 
over  his  glasses. 

Mr.  Lawrence  nodded,  and  glancing  at  him 
Amelie  saw  that  he  too  had  a  notebook  and  a  pencil 
and  that  he  seemed  to  be  making  entries  of  some  kind 
therein,  probably  concerning  herself. 

"Now,  when  did  you  get  your  machine,  Miss 
Trent?"  he  asked. 

"Last  April.  It  was  the  twenty-sixth,  I  think," 
she  answered  and  she  believed  now  that  she  knew 
exactly  how  it  must  feel  to  be  tried  for  murder. 

"And  this  Record  No.  33 — do  you  mind  telling 
121 


RECORD  NO.  33 


us  just  when  you  first  discovered  that,"  he  said,  still 
making  entries  in  the  notebook. 

"Certainly  not,"  she  returned,  and  now  she  felt 
as  if  she  were  acting  in  a  play.  Also  she  had  uncon- 
sciously caught  something  of  the  seriousness  of  the 
situation — a  seriousness,  however,  that  she  did  not 
at  all  understand. 

"I  did  not  try  it,  of  course,  for  some  time  after  I 
got  the  machine  as  the  directions  distinctly  advise 
that  the  records  should  be  taken  in  regular  order." 

"Exactly,"  cut  in  Mr.  Chalmers,  quickly,  but  with- 
out that  tone  and  air  of  suspicion  that  had  charac- 
terized his  previous  words  and  looks.  "You  were 
right." 

"So  it  was  only  May,"  continued  Amelie,  trying  to 
be  truthful  and  accurate,  regardless  of  what  the  re- 
sult might  be.  "I  think  it  was  about  eleven  o'clock 
on  the  night  of  the  sixteenth  that  I  got  out  Record 
No.  33  and  tried  it " 

"Of  course,  you  couldn't  understand  it,"  inter- 
rupted Mr.  Chalmers  with  his  fat  head  turned  side- 
ways and  a  one-sided,  sickly  smile  made  an  ugly  slit 
in  his  heavy  jaw.  He  was  sitting  back  now  with 
folded  arms,  regarding  her  almost  coquettishly.  The 
pencil  was  behind  his  ear  and  the  notebook  was  laid 
open  and  upside  down  across  his  knee.  Then  im- 
mediately he  broke  out  in  a  loud  coarse  laugh.  "You 

122 


A  FLATTERING  OFFER 


thought  there  wasn't  much  French  about  that,"  he 
chuckled,  as  he  shook  with  the  hoarse,  hollow 
laughter. 

"You  thought  we  had  cheated  you — that  we  were 
not  giving  you  the  lessons  as  we  had  promised," 
added  Mr.  Lawrence,  making  an  effort  to  laugh  also ; 
and,  catching  the  contagion,  Amelie  laughed  too,  al- 
though she  couldn't  have  told  to  save  her  life  what 
she  was  laughing  at. 

"I  suppose  you  compared  it  with  the  lesson  in  the 
manual,"  continued  Mr.  Lawrence,  "and  of  course 
you  found  that  they  were  different?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "I  found  that  they  were  very 
different  indeed."  This  time  she  assumed  an  air  of 
superior  knowledge. 

"Now,  Miss  Trent,"  said  Mr.  Chalmers,  rising 
and  pacing  up  and  down  the  little  room  as  if  in  seri- 
ous thought,  "let  us  get  down  to  business.  We  are 
wasting  your  valuable  time  and  ours,  too.  Would 
you  be  willing  to  let  us  have  that  record ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Amelie,  emphatically.  She  was 
becoming  more  and  more  mystified,  but  on  one  point 
at  least  she  was  perfectly  clear ;  she  would  not  give  up 
her  record.  "I  would  not  be  willing  to  let  anybody 
have  that  record — not  for  all  the  money  in  New 
York,"  she  said.  "I  wish  to  keep  that  record.  I 
bought  it  and  paid  for  it  and  I  consider  it  is  mine." 

123 


RECORD  NO.  33 


Mr.  Chalmers  stood  still  in  his  tracks  and  the 
pencil  dropped  with  a  metallic  sound  on  the  hard- 
wood floor.  Mr.  Lawrence  got  up  suddenly  as  if 
he  were  startled  and  the  two  men  stared  at  each 
other.  Miss  Warren  looked  amazed  and  she  was 
regarding  Amelie  so  intently  that  for  a  moment  she 
forgot  to  write. 

"Mr.  Lawrence,"  began  Mr.  Chalmers,  and  his 
voice  sounded  weak  and  strained  now,  "let  us  step 
into  the  other  office  a  moment.  I  wish  to  speak  with 
you  privately."  The  two  men  went  out. 

"I'm  having  the  time  of  my  life,"  said  Miss  War- 
ren throwing  up  her  hands  and  giggling  like  a  school- 
girl, as  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  behind  them. 
"You've  certainly  got  those  two  old  jays  going,  be- 
lieve me.  Don't  give  in — you  can  get  it  all  right — 
they'll  double  the  price  and  you  keep  right  on  along 
the  same  tactics  you  have  started — they'll  come 
across  all  right.  I  do  wish  Carter  could  hear  this — 
he's  the  young  man  in  the  outer  office,  you  know — 
Carter  Raines.  Oh,  but  he  hates  Mr.  Chalmers! 
We  wouldn't  care  if  you'd  pinch  him  for  twenty 

thousand "  Then  there  were  footsteps  outside 

the  door. 

The  girl  got  up  quickly,  and  when  the  door  opened 
and  the  two  men  entered  she  appeared  to  be  look- 
ing out  upon  the  city  in  the  most  perfectly  uninter- 

124 


A  FLATTERING  OFFER 


ested  and  indifferent  way,  in  fact  she  was  humming 
softly. 

Amelie  wasn't  the  only  Bernhardt  in  that  play. 

She  had  not  moved  from  where  she  had  been  sit- 
ting when  she  first  entered  the  room.  Something 
seemed  to  be  holding  her  in  its  iron  grasp.  The  two 
men  drew  up  their  chairs,  one  on  each  side  of 
her,  and  assumed  an  air  of  gravity  and  great  con- 
cern. 

It  was  Mr.  Lawrence  who  spoke  first  this  time. 

"Of  course,  you  couldn't  understand  this  Record 
No.  33,"  he  urged. 

"Oh,  yes  I  could,"  Amelie  answered  lightly.  At 
first  she  had  felt  like  the  villain  in  the  play,  but  now 
she  had  a  vague  sort  of  a  feeling  that  she  was  the 
star  of  the  cast. 

With  an  air  of  perfect  confidence  in  herself,  she 
went  on:  "I'll  admit  I  couldn't  understand  it  at 
first;  but  now  it's  quite  different,  and  I  under- 
stand it  perfectly.  In  fact  it  is  so  clear  and  so  perfect 
that  it  seems  really  human  and  in  listening  to  it  you 
forget  that  there  is  a  machine  that  is  really  doing  the 
work." 

Silence,  deadly  silence  for  a  full  minute.  Then 
Mr.  Chalmers  spoke. 

"If  you  are  not  willing  to  take  five  thousand  dol- 
lars for  it,"  he  said  in  what  he  meant  to  be  an  off- 

125 


RECORD  NO.  33 


hand  way,  "say  so,  and  perhaps  we  will  then  be  able 
to  agree  upon  some  other  terms  that  are  satisfactory 
to  all  concerned." 

Amelie  looked  at  Mr.  Chalmers  in  unfeigned  sur- 
prise— a  surprise  which  however  was  evidently  mis- 
understood. 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  didn't  expect  that  you  would 
take  that  for  it,"  he  said  in  soothing  tones,  "but  we 
had  to  have  a  starting-point  somewhere.  Will  you 
name  your  price?  Perhaps  we  can  get  at  it  better 
that  way." 

This  was  getting  really  too  mysterious  and  Amelie 
felt  that  she  could  stand  the  strain  no  longer. 
Besides,  she  felt  uneasy,  for  Miss  Warren  was  sit- 
ting over  there  calmly  taking  down  every  word  she 
said: 

"Will  you  gentlemen  kindly  tell  me  why  you  are 
so  anxious  to  get  this  particular  record  and  why  it 
seems  to  be  so  valuable?"  she  asked  candidly,  in 
sheer  desperation. 

"Well,"  answered  Mr.  Chalmers,  "we  might  ask 
you  that  same  question.  Why  are  you  so  anxious  to 
keep  the  record?  Why  is  it  so  valuable  to  you?" 

Amelie  was  trapped.  She  was  beginning  to  hate 
everybody  in  that  room. 

"My  reasons  are  of  a  purely  personal  nature,"  she 
said  a  little  stiffly. 

126 


A  FLATTERING  OFFER 


"Ours  are  of  the  same  nature,  purely  personal," 
said  Mr.  Chalmers.  "Of  course,  there  is  nothing 
either  commercial  or  scientific  about  your  reasons," 
and  he  spoke  with  a  suggestion  of  irony  and  looked 
at  her  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye.  The  half-smile  that 
was  characteristic  of  him  twisted  his  features,  and 
he  was  breathing  heavily. 

"Certainly  nothing  commercial,"  she  replied.  "If 
there  were  I  should  accept  your  offer  for  the  record. 
And,  so  far  as  I  know,  there  is  nothing  scientific — • 
how  could  there  be?"  The  men  looked  at  her  in- 
quiringly. Her  face  was  perfectly  frank  and  sweet. 
There  was  no  suggestion  of  duplicity  in  her  pretty 
features. 

"Miss  Trent,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence,  quietly,  "we 
have  already  wasted  valuable  time.  We  may  as  well 
be  plain  with  you.  The  record  that  is  in  your  pos- 
session cannot  possibly  be  of  any  value  to  you,  but  it 
is  of  very  great  value  to  Mr.  Chalmers.  He  wishes 
to  secure  the  record  and  is  ready  to  come  to  your 
terms." 

"Since  we  are  going  to  be  perfectly  candid 
and  frank  with  each  other,"  she  said,  "won't 
you  please  tell  me  exactly  what  you  think  it  is  I  came 
here  for?" 

"We  think — ahem — in  fact,  we  know,  Miss  Trent, 
that  you  came  here  to  claim  the  five  thousand  dollars 

127 


RECORD  NO.  S3 


reward  offered  by  us  for  the  return  of  the  record 
upon  which,  by  mistake,  a  scientific  formula  was 
caught." 

"Scientific  formula !"  Amelie  was  now  intensely 
amused.  She  felt  sure  there  had  been  some  mistake. 
Some  very  grave  mistake. 

"Gentlemen,"  she  said  rising,  "there  has  evidently 
been  some  mistake.  I  am  sorry  if  I  have  caused 
you  unnecessary  worry  and  have  taken  up  your  valu- 
able time.  There  is  positively  not  one  word  on  my 
Record  No.  33  of  a  scientific  nature,  and  I  did  not 
come  to  claim  any  reward.  In  fact,  I  did  not  know 
of  a  reward.  I  was  in  New  York  and,  as  Mr.  Law- 
rence had  written  me  a  pleasant  letter  about  the 
record,  asking  me  to  return  mine  and  all  that,  I 
thought  I  would  drop  in  to  ask  him  if  he  had  found 
the  stray  record.  I  didn't  understand  what  it  was 
all  about  and  if  I  have  misled  you,  I  am  truly  sorry. 
You  may  be  sure  that  if  I  did  have  the  scientific  rec- 
ord, I  would  willingly  have  accepted  your  offer  of 
five  thousand  dollars,  which  seems  a  large  fortune 
to  me."  The  two  men  had  risen  before  she  had  fin- 
ished, and  she  noticed  that  Miss  Warren  was  also 
standing. 

The  dead  silence  that  followed,  though  it  lasted 
only  for  a  moment,  Amelie  never  forgot.  The  two 
men  and  Miss  Warren  were  regarding  her  in  amaze- 

128 


A  FLATTERING  OFFER 


ment,  as  if  in  doubt  as  to  her  sanity.  Mr.  Chalmers 
was  the  first  to  recover  himself. 

"Great  Scott!"  was  all  he  said,  as  he  mopped  the 
great  drops  of  sweat  from  his  face  and  dropped  into 
the  chair  from  which  he  had  just  risen. 

Mr.  Lawrence  seemed  at  first  too  dumbfounded 
to  speak.  When  he  found  his  voice,  he  said,  as  if  to 
reassure  himself, 

"So  there  is  really  nothing  whatever  of  a  purely 
scientific  nature  on  your  Record  No.  33,  it  is  just 
as  it  should  have  been?"  and  he  spoke  as  if  he 
wanted  to  be  perfectly  sure  that  he  had  heard  aright. 

"It  is  just  as  it  should  have  been,"  Amelie  re- 
turned quite  positively,  in  an  incisive  voice,  which 
almost  surprised  herself,  she  was  so  unused  to  it. 
"Just  as  I  wrote  you,  it  was  and  is  perfectly  satis- 
factory." 

"Miss  Warren,  kindly  let  me  have  my  corre- 
spondence with  Miss  Trent,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence. 

When  Miss  Warren  returned  with  the  letters  both 
men  read  them  attentively.  Miss  Warren  kept  her 
gaze  fixed  on  Amelie  as  if  she  feared  she  might  es- 
cape, and  occasionally  she  shot  swift  glances  at  the 
men.  All  traces  of  merriment  had  now  died  out  of 
her  face. 

Mr.  Lawrence  was  apparently  not  quite  satisfied. 
He  picked  up  the  little  yellow  slip  from  the  floor 

129 


RECORD  NO.  33 


where  Mr.  Chalmers  had  thrown  it  a  moment  be- 
fore, tried  to  smooth  out  the  wrinkles  and  read  it 
again  very  carefully.  A  slight  shade  of  suspicion 
still  lingered  in  his  face. 

"Why  did  you  write  me  that  you  wished  to  speak 
to  me  concerning  Record  No.  33  ?"  he  asked  as  a  law- 
yer might  cross-question  a  witness.  Amelie  was  in- 
dignant. She  could  see  no  reason  for  being  kept  on 
the  grill  like  this.  She  was  excited  and  defiant.  And 
still  she  realized  that  she  could  not  leave  unless  they 
allowed  her  to  do  so,  so  she  replied, 

"Because,  as  I  told  you,  I  was  interested  in  a  per- 
fectly friendly  way." 

Such  friendly  interest  was  perfectly  natural  in 
Merryville,  but  came  with  strange  grace  in  New 
York. 

"Have  you  been  in  New  York  long,  Miss  Trent?" 
asked  Mr.  Chalmers,  decidedly  more  calm  now,  but 
evidently  still  suspicious.  As  he  spoke  he  nodded 
to  Miss  Warren,  who  resumed  her  seat  and  got  busy 
with  her  notebook  again. 

"No,"  she  answered,  "I  came  only  yesterday." 

"Do  you  expect  to  remain  long?"  he  asked. 

"I  do  not  know,"  was  all  she  replied. 

"What  is  your  New  York  address?" 

When  she  had  given  it,  he  gave  a  meaning  nod 
toward  Mr.  Lawrence. 

130 


rA  FLATTERING  OFFER 


"Miss  Warren,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence  stiffly,  "show 
Miss  Trent  out,  please,"  and  he  extended  his  hand  to 
Amelie  quite  formally.  Mr.  Chalmers  snapped  out, 
"Good-bye,"  very  choppily  as  he  limply  took 
Amelie's  hand  in  parting,  and  once  more  she  found 
herself  following  Miss  Warren  as  she  threaded  her 
way  through  the  seemingly  endless  rows  of  type- 
writers to  the  little  outer  office  where  the  cold-faced 
young  man  presided. 

Even  the  frigid  atmosphere  in  which  he  officiated 
was  infinitely  preferable  to  that  of  the  room  from 
which  she  had  just  escaped  and  where  she  felt  as  if 
the  lightning  had  been  playing  all  around  her. 


CHAPTER   X 

LIGHT   FROM   WITHIN 

HAVING  reached  at  last  the  little  outer  office. 
where  the  cold-faced  young  man  was  wait- 
ing doubtless  with  some  impatience,  Miss 
Warren  gave  vent  to  her  feelings  and  laughed  hys- 
terically, between  times  begging  Amelie  to  wait  until 
she  could  get  her  hat  and  purse  as  it  was  lunch  time 
and  they  might  go  out  together. 

Between  giggles  she  was  trying  to  give  Carter 
Raines  an  account  of  what  had  transpired  in  the  in- 
ner office,  and  he  listened  with  his  mouth  open  and  a 
weak  smile  playing  about  his  face. 

"That  was  one  time  Mr.  Lawrence  and  Mr. 
Chalmers  met  their  Waterloo,"  said  Miss  Warren, 
"and  here's  the  little  girl  who  did  it!"  and  she  put 
her  arm  affectionately  around  Amelie's  shoulder,  and 
gave  her  a  little  squeeze  to  emphasize  her  approval 
of  what  had  just  happened. 

"You  had  them  going,"  she  went  on,  addressing 
Amelie  this  time,  "and  you  did  it  so  smoothly  and 

132 


LIGHT  FROM  WITHIN 


so  artistically  that  to  save  my  life  I  can't  tell  even 
now  whether  you  meant  it  or  not.  You  are  some 
actress,  believe  me.  If  I  had  your  talent,  I'd  cer- 
tainly go  on  the  stage." 

"Meant  what?"  queried  Amelie,  laughing  in  spite 
of  herself.  "I  didn't  mean  to  deceive  them.  They 
hatched  up  all  of  that  mystery  and  got  the  whole 
thing  started  themselves  before  I  realized  what  it 
was  all  about,  and  to.  be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  I 
don't  know  yet  what  it  was  all  about." 

Her  optimistic  nature  and  her  relief  at  being  re- 
leased from  the  embarrassing  and  mysterious  posi- 
tion of  a  few  moments  before  had  brought  a  new 
radiance  to  her  pretty  face  and  Miss  Warren  and 
Carter  Raines  made  her  feel  that  she  had  done  some- 
thing real  heroic,  and  that  they  admired  her  im- 
mensely and  approved  thoroughly  of  everything  she 
had  done. 

"Then  you  really  haven't  got  the  mysterious  rec- 
ord after  all?"  asked  Carter,  quite  relaxed  now  and 
almost  human  as  he  sat  nonchalantly  on  the  corner  of 
the  desk  and  showed  real  interest  in  Amelie  while 
she  waited  for  Miss  Warren. 

"Certainly,  I  haven't  got  that  mysterious  record," 
she  replied  with  spirit.  "There  is  nothing  whatever 
scientific  or  mysterious  about  the  record  I  have." 

Carter  shook  his  sides  with  laughter  and  uttered 
133 


RECORD  NO.  33 


several  ejaculations  of  surprise.  Just  then  the  door 
opened  and  a  timid-looking  man  came  in  from  the 
marble-lined  hall. 

Instantly  Carter  was  the  cold-faced  young  man 
again,  for  it  was  easy  to  see  the  newcomer  was  a  visi- 
tor, and  Amelie  watched  the  lightning  change  in  the 
boy  with  fascinated  amusement,  knowing  now  that  it 
was  not  his  natural  manner. 

"Whom  do  you  wish  to  see?"  he  asked  in  exactly 
the  same  tone  of  voice  and  with  the  same  expression 
of  countenance  he  had  assumed  upon  her  first  enter- 
ing the  office ;  moreover  he  was  standing  in  the  same 
spot  and  in  the  same  position. 

"Fill  this  out,  please,"  and  he  handed  the  caller 
the  same  kind  of  a  yellow  slip  that  he  had  handed 
her,  and  she  wondered,  as  she  looked  at  it,  if  it  was 
destined  to  play  as  important  a  part  in  his  visit  as 
the  one  she  had  filled  out  had  played  in  hers.  Dur- 
ing the  time  the  man  sat  there,  Carter  Raines  never 
relaxed  his  frigid  manner  or  moved  a  muscle.  He 
might  have  been  a  statue,  and  Amelie  watched  him, 
wondering  how  one  person  could  appear  to  be  two 
distinct  individuals,  all  in  the  space  of  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

She  was  pleased  to  notice  that  the  visitor  took 
even  longer  over  the  yellow  slip  than  she  had  taken 
over  hers,  and  when  Miss  Warren  came  back  ready 

134 


LIGHT  FROM  WITHIN 


to  go  to  lunch  he  was  still  writing,  and  Carter  Raines 
was  still  standing  there,  cold  and  immovable. 

Once  out  in  the  crowded  street  again,  Amelie  took 
a  long  breath  and  wondered  what  was  going  to  hap- 
pen to  her  next.  Miss  Warren  asked  where  she 
usually  lunched  and,  being  glad  to  have  a  guide, 
Amelie  cheerfully  went  with  her  to  a  quiet  little  cafe 
in  Thirty-fourth  Street. 

Miss  Warren  had  by  no  means  recovered  from 
her  amusement  and  after  they  had  found  seats  and 
had  given  their  order,  she  could  talk  of  nothing  else 
but  of  Mr.  Chalmers'  surprise  and  chagrin  and  of 
Mr.  Lawrence's  suspicion  and  doubt.  She  rehearsed 
all  over  again  with  much  laughter  how  they  looked, 
and  what  they  said,  and  she  kept  complimenting 
Amelie  upon  how  artistically  she  had  "got  by" 
with  it. 

"I  wish  you  would  kindly  tell  me  just  exactly  what 
they  thought  I  had  come  for,"  said  Amelie  quite 
seriously. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Warren,  her  face  still  pink 
from  her  merriment,  "you  see  to  begin  with,  we 
don't  run  any  canned  music  shop.  What  we  run  is  a 
language  school,  a  correspondence  school  of  lan- 
guages and  we  teach  French,  German,  Spanish  or  any 
other  language  by  mail.  Now,  not  long  ago,  Mr. 
Lawrence  bought  this  patent  for  teaching  the  lan- 

135 


RECORD  NO.  33 


guages  by  means  of  a  phonograph  and  of  course  you 
know  just  what  that  is.  But,  of  course,  we  can't 
make  the  records.  We  have  them  made  over  at  Mr. 
Chalmers'  place  and  he  runs  a  big  manufacturing  es- 
tablishment where  all  they  do  is  to  make  records  for 
phonographs  and  all  that.  In  other  words,  Mr. 
Lawrence  runs  a  school  and  Mr.  Chalmers  runs  a 
plant  for  manufacturing  records." 

"But  who  talks  to  make  these  records?"  asked 
Amelie,  boldly,  for  she  felt  that  the  time  had  come 
for  her  to  seek  for  real  information. 

"Oh,  of  course,  our  teachers  have  to  go  over  there 
and  talk  into  those  queer  holes  in  the  wall " 

"Holes  in  the  wall,"  repeated  Amelie  after  her, 
curiously.  Then  the  whole  expression  of  her  face 
suddenly  changed.  She  stared,  with  wide,  unseeing 
eyes,  straight  in  front  of  her,  and  a  slight  gasp 
escaped  her  parted  lips,  as  if  she  had  seen  an  ap- 
parition. What  if  the  Professor  were  old  and  ugly 
and  horrid?  Miss  Warren  had  referred  to  "our 
teachers,"  and  it  might  even  be  that  there  were  num- 
bers of  them.  Perhaps  he  was  just  one  of  a  dozen 
cross,  badly  groomed,  poorly  fed,  old  teachers  who 
just  talk  into  holes  in  the  walls  all  day  for  revenue 
only.  Suppose  she  would  find  him  after  all;  sup- 
pose she  would  see  and  hear  the  very  teacher  who 
had  said  the  words  on  her  precious  record,  the  hero 

136 


LIGHT  FROM  WITHIN 


of  her  dreams;  and  suppose  he  should  be  cold  and 
mean  and  plain!  It  was  all  beginning  to  be  so  pain- 
fully and  hideously  real !  Try  as  she  would  to  see 
and  hear  him  again  in  her  imagination  as  she  had 
seen  and  heard  him,  she  could  not.  Persistently, 
until  she  thought  she  would  go  mad,  those  other  pro- 
fessors, long  rows  of  them,  kept  passing,  panorama- 
like,  before  her,  on  their  way  to  those  gaping  holes 
in  the  wall ! 

Miss  Warren  had  paused  to  observe  a  queer-look- 
ing couple  who  seemed  to  be  disagreeing  over  the 
menu  at  the  next  table,  otherwise  she  would  cer- 
tainly have  noticed  the  pained,  startled  look  in  the 
sweet  face  before  her.  After  a  moment's  abstrac- 
tion she  went  on, 

"Now  the  Professor  who  made  those  records  you 
have,  for  instance,  just  stood  there  and  talked  into 
that  old  square  tin  box  through  the  hole  in  the  wall 
and  his  voice  went  into  a  soundproof  room  and  was 
caught  on  the  record." 

"And  isn't  it  very  tiresome?"  asked  Amelie,  with- 
out in  the  least  understanding  just  why  it  should  be. 

"Why  certainly  it  is  tiresome,"  said  Miss  Warren, 
falling  right  in.  "Our  Professor  just  got  so  tired 
of  going  there  day  after  day  and  talking  into  those 
old  machines  he  simply  nearly  lost  his  mind.  In 
fact  it  was  not  long  after  he  made  those  records  that 

137 


RECORD  NO.  33 


he  left  the  school  and  went  to  Europe,  and  I  sup- 
pose he  is  still  there.  I  always  did  say  that  he  would 
never  have  left  us  if  it  hadn't  been  for  those  old  rec- 
ords. They  were  so  tiresome." 

"To  Europe!"  Something  in  the  words  chilled, 
disappointed,  hurt  her.  But  she  remembered  Carter 
Raines'  wonderful  art  of  self-control  and  she  tried 
to  keep  her  thoughts  and  feelings  from  showing  in 
her  face.  After  all,  if  he  was  to  be  so  different  from 
her  picture  of  him,  perhaps  she  should  be  glad  he 
was  in  Europe. 

"But  I  have  got  off  my  story,"  Miss  Warren  was 
saying.  "You  wanted  to  know  about  the  missing 
record.  Mr.  Chalmers  has  a  young  man  working 
for  him  named  Mr.  Channing — Will  Channing — 
and  he  is  very,  very  clever.  Mr.  Chalmers  wasn't 
paying  him  anything  too  much,  and  still  he  was  the 
record  expert  of  the  establishment.  What  he  doesn't 
know  about  making  records  isn't  worth  knowing. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  art  in  making  the  records — 
I  mean  in  singing  or  playing  or  talking  for  them. 
Now,  Mr.  Channing  says  that  Caruso  is  so  familiar 
with  the  science  of  it  that  he  seldom  has  to  sing  but 
a  few  times  for  a  record — often  not  more  than  once 
— while  some  of  the  other  celebrities  have  to  sing 
over  many  times  before  a  perfect  record  is  made." 

"So  Mr.  Channing,  just  spending  his  life  in  that 
138 


LIGHT  FROM  WITHIN 


soundproof  room,  made  a  very  valuable  scientific 
discovery.  Of  course,  I  have  no  idea  what  it  was — 
that's  where  the  secret  is,  believe  me — but  I  know 
they  said  that,  by  the  process  he  had  discovered,  the 
company  would  be  saved  several  hundred  thousand 
dollars  a  year.  By  this  process  the  faintest  whisper 
could  be  caught  and  reproduced,  and  all  of  the  sounds 
that  mar  the  perfect  clearness  of  the  usual  records 
were  eliminated.  Professor  Marville — he's  the  man 
who  made  those  records  for  the  French  language — 
told  me  that  Mr.  Channing  told  him  one  day  when  he 
was  all  tired  out  with  those  silly  French  lessons — to 
just  go  on  and  say  something  in  his  real  natural 
voice — just  exactly  as  if  he  were  talking  to  some- 
one." 

This  time  Amelie's  heart  gave  a  loud  thump  which 
she  feared  her  companion  might  actually  hear.  She 
was  agitated,  almost  frightened,  so  close  did  she 
seem  to  be  to  the  picture  of  her  dreams!  "All  of 
the  sounds  that  mar  the  perfect  clearness  of  the 
usual  records  were  eliminated" — what  was  there  in 
all  this  that  came  so  close  to  her  and  to  her  own 
precious  record?  Was  it  not  so  with  that?  Was  it 
not  different,  Oh,  so  very  different  from  the  rest? 
And  "Professor  Marville" — his  name!  How  the 
sound  of  it  thrilled  and  excited  her!  How  little  her 
new  friend  could  guess  what  meaning  those  half- 

139 


RECORD  NO. 


hearted,  indifferent  words  had  for  her!  Despite  her 
efforts  at  self-control  she  felt  her  cheeks  burning 
and  her  voice  was  weak  and  trembling  when,  timid 
now  and  breathless,  she  asked, 

"Did  he  do  it?" 

"Surely  he  did,"  returned  her  companion,  evi- 
dently perfectly  unaware  of  Amelie's  intense  inter- 
est, "and  he  told  me  that  Mr.  Channing  finished  up 
that  record  just  to  show  him  how  it  came  out  and  the 
next  time  he  went  over  there  he  heard  it  and  he  said 
it  was  absolutely  perfect.  That  was  the  first  record 
ever  completed  that  was  made  by  the  new  process." 

Here  was  at  least  some  light.  Amelie  knew  now 
for  the  first  time  how  that  record  happened  to  be 
made.  But  how  did  it  fall  about  that  it  came  to  her 
little  white  cottage  down  in  that  far-away  corner  of 
Kentucky?  That  was  something  that  was  still  a 
mystery,  something  she  still  wanted  to  know. 

"Marville — Professor  Marville "  She  kept 

repeating  the  name  and  she  was  becoming  fairly  en- 
tranced. 

"Well,  go  on,"  she  said  almost  impatiently,  as 
Miss  Warren  stopped  to  begin  on  her  sandwich. 

"Well,  when  old  Mr.  Chalmers  found  he  just 
couldn't  help  himself  and  when  he  was  afraid  Mr. 
Channing  would  sell  his  invention  and  literally  put 
him  out  of  business,  he  made  him  an  offer.  Of 

140 


LIGHT  FROM  WITHIN 


course,  he  haggled  over  it — Mr.  Chalmers  always 
does  that.  You  could  see  that  from  the  way  he  was 
trying  to  haggle  with  you.  But  in  the  end  he  did 
come  across  most  splendidly  and  Mr.  Channing  owns 
a  half-interest  in  the  business  and  was  paid  a  hand- 
some sum  besides." 

Amelie's  lunch  remained  untouched  and  she  en- 
couraged Miss  Warren  to  talk. 

"Now,  I  have  heard  so  many  versions  of  how  and 
why  that  mysterious  lost  record  was  made  that  I 
don't  know  which  to  believe,  but  I  think  it  was  this 
way,"  she  went  on.  "Mr.  Chalmers,  being  perfectly 
ignorant  of  that  end  of  the  business,  thought  best  to 
post  himself,  and  so  one  afternoon,  right  after  Mr. 
Channing  had  been  taken  in  as  a  full  partner  and  had 
got  his  money,  Mr.  Chalmers  went  into  this  room 
where  Mr.  Channing  was  working  over  the  records 
and  told  him  he  wanted  him  to  explain  just  what  this 
new  process  was  and  how  it  differed  from  the  old 
way  of  making  and  reproducing  the  records.  Of 
course,  he  had  paid  for  the  secret  and  was  entitled 
to  know  and  so  Mr.  Channing  explained  every  de- 
tail to  him  as  well  as  he  could  to  as  much  of  a  mut- 
tonhead  as  old  Chalmers  is. 

"In  showing  him  how  the  thing  went  he  set  the 
needle  going  and  showed  how  his  voice  could  be 
caught  perfectly  although  he  spoke  scarcely  above  a 

141 


RECORD  NO.  33 


whisper,  and  in  another  part  of  the  room.  Mr. 
Chalmers  was  delighted  over  the  idea  of  having  a 
record  of  this  secret  and  so  he  got  Mr.  Channing  to 
finish  it  up  so  that  he  could  learn  it  from  the  machine 
and  save  him  the  trouble  of  going  over  it  again. 
This  you  see  was  the  second  record  made  by  the 
new  process  and  completed.  Mr.  Channing  after- 
wards gave  him  the  record  and  Mr.  Chalmers  locked 
it  away  in  his  safe. 

"There  it  stayed  for  some  time.  Of  course,  he  got 
busy  and  didn't  think  of  it  again  and  when  one  day 
he  did  decide  to  take  it  out  and  put  it  on  a  machine 
and  try  it  out  he  made  the  startling  discovery  that  it 
was  not  the  scientific  record  after  all  but  that  it  was 
Lesson  No.  33  in  our  French  Manual,  beginning, 
'My  sister  drinks  coffee  and  I  drink  tea.' ' 

How  vividly  it  all  came  back  to  her  then!  The 
little  pink-and-white  sitting-room,  the  machine  cold 
and  dead,  and  yet  how  surely  it  had  brought  his  mes- 
sage to  her  listening  heart.  Was  the  light  about  to 
break?  She  leaned  across  the  little  table  and  forgot 
the  role  she  was  trying  to  act.  Lights  were  shining 
in  her  eyes,  rosy  flushes  were  coming  and  going  in 
her  cheeks,  and  she  waited  eagerly,  impatiently  for 
Miss  Warren,  who  was  calmly  spreading  butter  on 
a  cracker,  to  go  on. 

"Now  you  have  seen  Mr.  Chalmers  and  you  can 
142 


LIGHT  FROM  WITHIN 


imagine  how  he  went  immediately  up  in  the  air." 
And  then  she  stopped  to  eat  the  cracker.  "There 
was  the  greatest  fuss  raised  you  ever  heard  of  and 
of  course  the  natural  conclusion  followed  that  Mr. 
Channing  had  made  a  mistake  and  had  given  Mr. 
Chalmers  the  record  that  should  have  gone  out  with 
one  of  the  machines  and  had  sent  the  scientific  rec- 
ord off  in  an  envelope  marked  'Record  No.  33'  for 
the  French  language. 

"Then  the  fun  started  in  earnest.  Mr.  Chalmers 
first  thought  somebody  either  in  our  place  or  his  had 
got  the  record  and  that  the  great  secret,  for  which 
he  had  paid  so  dearly,  was  out.  He  actually  lost 
flesh  over  it,  and  for  a  while  he  went  around  looking 
like  a  sick  kitten — rather  a  hefty  one  it  is  true. 

"After  he  just  gave  up  all  hopes  of  locating  the 
record,  in  either  our  establishment  or  his,  he  offered 
the  reward  of  five  thousand  dollars  for  the  return 
of  the  record.  You  got  the  letter  didn't  you — I  re- 
member sending  you  one." 

"No,"  said  Amelie,  and  her  own  voice  sounded 
afar  off  now,  "I  didn't.  But  I  left  Merryville  sev- 
eral days  ago  and  have  not  had  any  mail  from  home 
yet.  I  ought  to  get  some  mail  from  home  to-morrow 
and  probably  that  letter  will  be  forwarded.  What 
was  in  the  letter,  tell  me." 

"Well,"  continued  Miss  Warren,  wreathed  in 
143 


RECORD  NO.  33 


smiles  again  and  still  unconscious  of  the  effect  of  her 
story  on  the  listener,  "when  you  appeared  on  the 
scene  just  after  the  announcement  of  the  five-thou- 
sand-dollar reward  had  been  sent  out  and  especially 
the  way  you  filled  out  that  yellow  slip — say,  tell  me, 
now  honest,  why  did  you  do  that?"  And  she  leaned 
across  the  table  toward  her  companion  and  searched 
her  fair  face. 

Amelie  was  beginning  to  realize  how  foolish  she 
must  seem  to  these  people  who  were  so  different  in 
their  ideas  and  ways  of  looking  at  things  than  she 
was,  and  she  knew  that  she  could  never,  never  make 
Miss  Warren  understand  how  it  had  all  come  about. 
But  she  couldn't  be  otherwise  than  truthful,  so  she 
said: 

"When  I  said  that  I  was  interested  and  that  I  was 
curious  I  have  said  all  I  know  how  to  say  in  explana- 
tion of  what  I  did.  I  certainly  had  not  the  faintest 
dream  of  getting  mixed  up  in  any  mystery.  Mr. 
Lawrence  had  written  to  me  about  the  stray  record, 
and  I  was  naturally  very  curious  about  it.  I  am 
curious  about  it  yet,  and  shall  be  until  the  whole 
thing  is  finally  solved."  She  tossed  her  head,  a 
pretty  trick  of  hers,  and  as  the  atmosphere  seemed 
to  be  clearing,  she  smiled  sweetly  and  was  more  like 
herself. 

"I  am  not  used  to  your  New  York  ways,  for  my 
144 


LIGHT  FROM  WITHIN 


life  is  very  different  from  yours.  When  I  went  into 
your  place  this  morning  I  had  no  thought  except  that 
I  should  send  in  my  card  to  Mr.  Lawrence  and  that 
I  should  have  a  nice,  pleasant  little  chat  with  him 
and  that  he  should  tell  me  something  that  would  in- 
terest me  concerning  this  lost  record.  You  have 
been  here  close  to  it  all  and  you  are  used  to  big 
things.  But  events  in  my  life  are  very  few  and  far 
between.  This  missing  record  business  aroused  my 
curiosity.  The  more  I  thought  of  it  after  I  got  Mr. 
Lawrence's  letter  the  more  curious  I  got.  If  you 
could  put  yourself  in  my  place — but,  of  course,  you 
can't — you  wouldn't  think  it  so  strange  that  I  should 
have  called  in  to  see  Mr.  Lawrence  this  morning." 

"But  the  slip — why  did  you  write  that  to  get  him 
all  stirred  up?"  And  Miss  Warren  echoed  Mr. 
Lawrence's  words  of  an  hour  before. 

"That  yellow  slip  was  my  undoing,"  said  Amelie, 
laughing.  "That  seems  to  have  caused  all  of  the 
trouble.  If  that  young  man  had  let  me  go  on  in  my 
own  little  Kentucky  style  and  send  in  my  card  just 
in  the  old-fashioned  polite  and  sensible  way,  there 
would  have  been  none  of  this.  It's  just  a  piece  of  red 
tape  that  is  silly  to  my  way  of  thinking.  Now,  I  was 
surprised  and  embarrassed  and  he  looked  at  me  so 
sternly  and  seemed  so  severe  and  lordly,  that  I 
obeyed  him  and  sat  down  to  the  desk  and  stared  at 

H5 


RECORD  NO.  33 


the  yellow  slip.  The  first  question  was,  'Whom  do 
you  wish  to  see?'  and  of  course  I  wrote,  'Mr.  Law- 
rence.' The  next  one  was  'Concerning'  and  of  course 
I  wrote  what  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world 
for  me  to  write,  'Record  No.  33,'  because  I  did  want 
to  ask  him  about  that  record  and  about  nothing  else 
under  the  shining  sun.  I  had  never  heard  of  the  re- 
ward and  did  not  dream  that  the  few  words  I  wrote 
on  that  slip  would  stir  up  so  much  excitement  and 
cause  so  much  disappointment." 

Amelie's  description  of  her  impressions  of  Carter 
Raines  amused  Miss  Warren  intensely  and  she 
laughed  heartily. 

"Well,"  she  said,  as  she  drew  on  her  long  gloves, 
"all  I  can  say  is  that  you  have  given  me  the  best  time 
that  I  have  had  for  a  long  time.  And  best  of  all  you 
certainly  put  one  over  good  and  stout — whether  you 
intended  to  do  it  or  not  and  my  hat's  off  to  you.  I 
just  love  Southerners  anyway.  I  just  love  your  soft, 
Southern  voice,  your  mannerisms,  your  clothes  and 
everything  about  you.  I've  really  had  the  time  of 
my  life." 

There  was  something  so  wholesome  and  sincere 
and  good  natured  about  the  girl,  Amelie  liked  and 
admired  her. 

"Well,  that's  nice  of  you  to  say  so,"  she  said, 
greatly  pleased. 

146 


LIGHT  FROM  WITHIN 


"Well,  that's  no  joke,"  said  Miss  Warren  as  they 
walked  up  the  street  together  toward  the  big  build- 
ing they  had  recently  left.  "I  just  dearly  love  to 
hear  you  talk.  I  used  to  love  to  hear  Professor 
Marville  talk,  too." 

"Was  he  Southern,  too?"  Amelie  asked,  almost 
timidly. 

"Oh,  dear,  yes.  That  is,  he  was  born  in  Louisiana 
and  lived  there  until  he  was  ten  or  eleven  years  old. 
But  he  talked  about  the  South  and  the  Southern  peo- 
ple all  the  time.  I  used  to  hear  him  talking  to  the 
other  teachers  sometimes  and  I  imagine  they  got 
tired  of  it.  He  was  always  talking  about  the  flowers 
in  Louisiana  and  of  how  much  prettier  and  sweeter 
and  gentler  the  Southern  women  are  than  we  women 
of  the  North.  He  even  said  you  Southern  women 
have  souls  and  that  we  have  none." 

"It's  a  wonder  he  did  not  go  back  South,"  ven- 
tured Amelie  further. 

"Oh,  he  would  have  gone  any  minute,"  replied 
Miss  Warren  promptly,  "if  it  hadn't  been  for  his 
mother.  She  doesn't  like  the  South.  He  is  devoted 
to  his  old  mother  and  has  really  sacrificed  his  life  for 
her.  He  did  leave  her  and  go  to  Europe  this  Sum- 
mer but  he  left  her  with  friends,  and  he  knew  she 
would  be  in  good  hands.  She  has  been  a  cripple  for 
years  and  spends  her  life  in  a  wheel  chair." 

147 


RECORD  NO.  33 


And  so  Amelia  parted  from  the  only  person  who 
had  given  her  any  light  from  within  on  her  French 
Professor,  far  more  interesting  to  her  than  any  mys- 
terious records  and  more  alluring  even  than  that  five- 
thousand-dollar  reward. 


CHAPTER   XI 

MR.    CHALMERS    HAS   AN   IDEA   AND   AMELIE    MAKES 
A   VISIT 

MISS  WARREN  stopped  to  giggle  and  gossip 
with  Carter  Raines  about  the  fascinating 
Kentucky  girl,  before  she  put  aside  her  air 
of  facetiousness  and  assumed  the  less  becoming  one 
of  seriousness  and  entered  Mr.  Lawrence's  office  for 
her  afternoon's  work.  Immediately  she  realized 
that  things  were  not  going  smoothly  there.  Mr. 
Lawrence  was  walking  up  and  down,  twisting  his 
watch-chain  and  looking  very  thoughtful.  Mr. 
Chalmers  was  redder  and  more  agitated  than  he  had 
been  during  the  strange  interview  of  the  morning. 
He  was  puffing  strenuously  at  his  cigar,  and  blowing 
dense  clouds  of  odorous  smoke  into  the  already  heav- 
ily laden  air.  Neither  man  spoke  or  appeared  to 
notice  her  as  she  took  her  accustomed  place  and 
opened  her  notebook  at  the  beginning  of  the  record 
of  the  morning. 

"How  long  will  it  be  before  you  can  let  us  have 
149 


RECORD  NO.  33 


that    report — the    proceedings    of    the    morning?" 
asked  Mr.  Lawrence. 

"It  won't  take  me  long,  sir;  I'll  begin  immedi- 
ately," she  answered. 

"Make  three  copies,  we  may  need  them." 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  very  meekly,  as  she  slipped 
in  carbons  for  four  copies.  She  had  promised  one  to 
Carter  Raines,  since  she  was  afraid  she  couldn't  re- 
member everything,  and  he  wanted  to  hear  it  all. 

"I'm  convinced."  This  came  from  Mr.  Chalmers. 
He  threw  down  his  cigar  and  got  up.  He  spoke  very 
positively  and  repeated  the  words,  "I'm  convinced, 
Lawrence."  Then  he  pushed  the  tails  of  his  coat 
back  and  rammed  his  hands  in  his  trousers  pockets, 
and  added,  emphatically,  if  not  elegantly,  "I'm  damn 
sure  she  has  it,  Lawrence.  That  girl's  a  shark — 
she's  not  as  innocent  as  she  looks.  All  that  surprise 
and  excitement — pretty  wasn't  it,  but  all  assumed — 
every  bit  of  it.  Have  you  figured,  Lawrence,  what 
effect  she  might  have  had  on — well,  on  two  men  who 
are  more — er — susceptible  than  you  and  I?"  As  he 
finished,  Mr.  Chalmers  dropped  his  voice  and  gave 
his  friend  a  knowing  look.  Then  he  added: 

"I  wish  I'd  tried  her  out  on  a  little — well,  a  little 
flirtation — and  so  forth — what  do  you  say?  How 
would  she  have  taken  it?  Don't  you  think  it  would 
have  pleased  her?" 

150 


AN  IDEA  AND  A  VISIT 


This  wasn't  meant  for  Miss  Warren's  ears  but 
she  heard  it  nevertheless  as  she  pounded  away  at  her 
typewriter. 

"She  may  be  smooth  and  sharp,"  said  Mr.  Law- 
rence, "but  I  couldn't  believe  she  would  succumb 
even  to  your  charms,"  and  he  smiled  a  moment,  de- 
spite his  mood. 

"The  question  is,"  he  went  on  seriously  after  a 
moment,  "has  she  got  that  record?  I'm  inclined  to 
think  she  has." 

Miss  Warren's  fingers  went  astray  on  the  keys 
and  she  felt  a  little  flurry  of  surprise.  Then  she  re- 
sumed her  usual  steady  stroke. 

"The  more  I  think  of  it,  Lawrence,  the  more  I 
know  she  has,"  said  Chalmers,  "and  the  question  is 
what  can  we  do  about  it?  How  can  we  get  at  her?" 
He  lit  another  cigar  and  began  to  puff  again.  Both 
men  were  deep  in  thought  and  Miss  Warren  was 
still  writing  on  her  machine.  Mr.  Lawrence  turned 
to  her. 

"Miss  Warren,  have  you  the  correct  address  of 
the  young  lady  who  was  in  here  this  morning?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Here  it  is,"  and  she  read  Amelie's  full 
name  and  New  York  address  from  her  notebook. 
"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Lawrence,  for  butting  in,"  she 
ventured,  "but  Miss  Trent  is  no  average  person — 
I  mean  she's  not  the  sort  you  meet  every  day.  I 


RECORD  NO.  33 


had  lunch  with  her  after  she  left  this  morning.  She's 
all  right,  believe  me." 

Miss  Warren  quietly  put  some  new  sheets  in  her 
machine  and  appeared  to  be  giving  strict  attention 
to  her  work  again.  She  did  not  look  up,  but  she  was 
quite  conscious  that  what  she  had  said  had  had  an 
effect.  In  fact,  her  remark  put  both  men  to  think- 
ing along  a  new  line  and  they  looked  at  each 
other  quickly.  She  had  already  begun  to  strike 
the  keys  evenly  and  lightly  when  Mr.  Lawrence 
said, 

"Did  she  seem  any  different,  Miss  Warren,  from 
what  she  was  in  here  ?  Was  she  still  in  the  role  of 
the  innocent — or  did  you  notice  a  change?" 

Miss  Warren  had  never  considered  Pinkerton 
proclivities  as  among  her  assets,  but  she  was  flat- 
tered. 

"Well,  of  course,  she  was  more  natural  with  me 
and  she  did  ask  quite  a  lot  of  questions  about  how 
the  records  are  made,"  she  said,  turning  from  her 
machine  and  beginning  to  feel  important.  "I  tried  to 
find  out  what  she  is  doing  in  New  York,  why  she 
came  and  how  long  she  is  going  to  stay,  but  there 
was  nothing  doing — she  wouldn't  tell.  Of  course, 
I  wasn't  with  her  long  enough  to  pump  her  much. 
If  I  had  time  I  could  get  the  whole  story  I  feel 


152 


'AN  IDEA  AND  A  VISIT 


Both  men  had  sat  down  now  and  were  giving  Miss 
Warren  their  undivided  attention.  She  was  really 
beginning  to  enjoy  herself.  Mr.  Chalmers  leaned 
over  and  motioned  them  both  nearer,  as  if  to  caution 
the  utmost  secrecy. 

"How  would  this  do?"  he  began  in  a  hoarse,  low 
voice.  "Let  Miss  Warren  see  her  again — take  her 
to  lunch,  you  know,  or  the  matinee  or  something  like 
that.  She  knows  all  about  this  thing  and  I  believe 
she  could  come  nearer  finding  out  what  we  want  to 
know  than  any  ten  men  in  New  York." 

"I  was  thinking  of  something  like  that,"  said  Mr. 
Lawrence,  cautiously.  Miss  Warren  was  not  quite 
sure  she  would  like  the  commission  just  then.  Be- 
sides, she  saw  a  chance  to  flatter  Mr.  Chalmers  and 
have  some  fun  at  the  same  time. 

"I  believe  you  could  gain  her  confidence  and  per- 
suade her  to  tell  you  anything,  Mr.  Chalmers,"  she 
said.  "I  might  see  her  and  make  an  engagement  for 
you  to  take  her  to  the  matinee,  you  know.  How 
would  that  do?" 

Mr.  Lawrence  looked  disapproval,  but  Mr.  Chal- 
mers was  pleased.  A  smile,  broad  from  the  first, 
wrinkled  his  fat  cheeks  until  his  eyes  were  hardly 
visible  and  a  wide  grin  parted  his  thin  lips.  He  cut 
his  eyes  sidewise  and  contemplated  the  distant  land- 
scape, as  if  impressed.  The  smile  broke  into  a  coarse 

153 


RECORD  NO.  33 


laugh  and  he  slapped  Mr.  Lawrence  loudly  on  his 
crossed  knee. 

"You  think  she'd  like  me  well  enough  for  that?" 
he  asked.  "Say,  old  man,  do  you  think  she  would? 
She  is  good-looking — sweet  you  know — and — well, 
innocent.  And  still  we  know  she  isn't  innocent."  He 
rubbed  his  puffy  cheeks  and  his  chin  with  both  hands. 
"My,  I'd  have  to  get  a  shave  and  a  shine — and " 

But  Mr.  Lawrence  spoiled  the  dream. 

"That  wouldn't  do,  Chalmers.  That  wouldn't 
do,"  he  said,  crossly,  not  seeing  Miss  Warren's  joke 
at  all.  "You're  too  deeply  interested — too  excit- 
able. You'd  give  the  thing  away.  And  if  she  did 
fall  for  you,  why,  what  would  Mrs.  Chalmers  say?" 

"Oh,  I'd  hate  for  her  to  fall  in  love  with  you," 
put  in  Miss  Warren  mischievously.  "And  Mrs. 
Chalmers — I  hadn't  thought  of  her — she  might  get 
jealous." 

"Your  first  suggestion  is  good,  Chalmers,"  began 
Mr.  Lawrence.  "Miss  Warren  is  the  one  to  do  it. 
Miss  Trent  isn't  the  type  to  be  ensnared  by  a  man's 
charms — I  believe  she  would  resist  even  yours " 

"That'll  do  now,"  returned  Chalmers,  still  beam- 
ing over  the  prospects  which  had  been  so  recently 
shattered.  "None  of  your  compliments." 

"How  could  I  do  it?"  asked  Miss  Warren,  quite 
in  earnest  now  and  not  altogether  pleased. 

154 


"My  car  is  at  your  disposal,"  said  Mr.  Chalmers. 
"Being  from  the  country  maybe  she'd  like  that. 
Then,  take  her  to  dinner,  to  the  matinee,  anywhere, 
just  so  you  have  a  chance  to  talk  to  her.  If,  after 
you  see  her  a  few  times,  you  have  any  reason  to  be- 
lieve she  really  has  that  record,  we  can  put  a  de-. 
tective  to  work." 

At  first  Miss  Warren  hesitated.  She  kept  think- 
ing of  the  sweet,  innocent  face  as  it  looked  across  the 
table  that  day  and  instinctively  her  womanliness  re- 
belled a  little.  But  gradually  she  began  to  see  some 
fun  in  it.  There  was  something  very  appealing  to 
her  about  the  car  at  her  disposal,  the  matinees,  and 
the  dinners,  although  she  wasn't  from  the  country. 
Mr.  Lawrence  had  said  that  she  could  be  excused 
from  all  of  her  office  duties  and  that  he  would 
dictate  to  a  substitute  stenographer.  Besides, 
just  as  the  thought  of  all  this  came  to  her,  Mr.  Chal- 
mers took  out  a  roll  of  bills  and  began  to  count  them 
off  to  her. 

"Take  this  along,"  he  said,  "and  when  it  gives 
out  let  me  know.  Remember,  there's  plenty  more 
where  that  came  from." 

Attractions  were  multiplying  and  Miss  Warren 
could  no  longer  even  pretend  to  resist.  In  fact,  by 
the  time  she  had  a  chance  to  tell  the  whole  thing  to 
Carter  Raines  and  had  convinced  him,  as  well  as  the 

155 


RECORD  NO.  33 


two  men,  that  she  needed  him  to  help  her  carry  out 
her  schemes,  she  was  quite  enthusiastic. 

While  these  events,  which  were  to  influence  her 
whole  life,  were  transpiring  in  Mr.  Lawrence's  of- 
fice, Amelie  was  strolling  through  the  big  depart- 
ment stores  on  Broadway,  looking  in  a  bewildered, 
dazed  sort  of  way  at  all  of  the  beautiful  things  that 
were  far  more  lovely  than  they  seemed  in  the  cata- 
logues from  which  Merryville  made  its  annual  or- 
ders for  the  year's  supply  of  clothes  and  household 
furnishings. 

She  knew  that  she  had  something  very  important 
to  think  about,  but  now  she  was  wandering,  dream- 
Ing,  putting  off  the  real  thinking  for  just  a  little  while 
longer. 

Scarcely  conscious  of  the  direction  in  which  she 
was  walking,  lured  on  only  by  the  splendid  show 
windows,  and  falling  in,  half-consciously,  with  the 
crowd,  Amelie  turned  off  Broadway  and  went  east 
along  Thirty-fifth  Street.  After  she  had  gone  a 
short  distance  she  noticed  the  crowds  were  less  dense, 
the  show  windows  less  beautiful  and  she  marveled 
in  the  change  that  had  come  in  the  general  atmos- 
phere of  things  within  so  short  a  time.  There  was 
something  almost  restful,  certainly  far  less  confus- 
ing and  agitating  here.  As  she  neared  Fifth  Avenue, 
she  saw  the  motor  cars  spinning  smoothly  and  swiftly 

156 


AN  IDEA  AND  A  VISIT 


up  and  down  the  street,  the  people  hurrying  in  all 
directions,  but  it  was  all  quieter,  more  dignified  than 
things  had  seemed  on  Broadway,  with  elevated  trains 
thundering  overhead  and  the  net-work  of  surface 
cars. 

And  as  she  felt  the  relaxation  of  this  environment, 
she  glanced  at  the  street  numbers  and  then  above 
the  doors  of  the  houses,  and  then  she  remembered 
something  that  gave  her  a  little  thrill.  Was  it  not  in 
this  street  that  Miss  Warren  had  said  the  Professor 
lived?  As  they  had  walked  to  the  office  after  that 
luncheon,  the  pretty  stenographer  had  told  her  that 
he  had  an  apartment  where  he  worked  and  lived  and 
gave  private  French  lessons  when  he  was  in  town. 
Then  the  complete  address  flashed  into  her  mind. 
Surely  she  must  be  near  it.  Forgetting  her  usual 
caution,  she  crossed  the  street  there  in  the  middle 
of  the  block  and  eagerly  scanned  the  numbers  above 
the  doors. 

Something  came  into  her  throat,  and  she  felt  a 
strange  excitement — more  delicious,  more  promising 
than  she  had  ever  felt  before.  Surely  this  was  the 
place.  This  house  before  which  she  was  now  walk- 
ing was  his  dwelling.  Up  these  very  steps  before 
which  she  now  hesitated  he  went  often — perhaps  he 
had  entered  that  door  even  a  few  moments  before, 
perhaps  he  might  come  out  any  moment.  She 

157 


RECORD  NO.  33 


couldn't  quite  go  on,  and  yet  why  should  she  stop? 
What  business  had  she  there?  She  went  on  to  the 
corner  of  the  Avenue  where  she  stood  still,  as  if 
waiting  for  a  bus  or  some  friend.  Her  eyes  wan- 
dered frequently  to  that  doorway  a  short  distance 
away  and  she  thought  for  a  moment  of  standing 
there  and  waiting  and  watching  until  he  should  really 
come.  Sometimes  people  who  passed  looked  at  her 
and  she  felt  guilty  and  confused,  as  if  they  all  knew 
her  secret,  and  involuntarily  she  would  hug  her  bag 
up  under  her  arm  to  be  quite  sure  that  it  still  con- 
tained her  precious  Record  No.  33.  Now  and  then 
the  thought  flashed  over  her:  suppose  someone 
should  steal  it!  How  blank  and  lonely  life  would 
be  without  it  now!  How  living  and  vital  a  link  it 
seemed  between  the  dream  back  in  Kentucky  and  the 
reality  here  in  New  York! 

She  knew  she  could  not  stand  there  indefinitely, 
that  she  must  go  on,  and  still  the  doorway,  those 
steps,  the  curtained  windows  in  the  plain  but  digni- 
fied old  house,  how  they  all  fascinated  her !  There 
was  a  certain  blankness  or  plainness,  and  outward 
coldness  about  the  house,  and  yet  it  had  an  indi- 
viduality, even  a  personality.  It  seemed  something 
more  than  mere  brick  and  mortar.  It  seemed  in 
some  mysterious  way  to  have  taken  on  something  of 
the  character  of  the  many,  many  people  who  must 

158 


AN  IDEA  AND  A  VISIT 


have  dwelt  within  its  high  old  walls  through  all  of 
the  years  it  had  been  standing  there.  Even  some 
suggestion  of  elegance  and  grandeur  seemed  to  cling 
there,  though  to  be  sure  the  paint  was  worn  and 
there  were  other  signs  of  indifference — characteris- 
tics, too,  that  perhaps  suggested  the  people  who  lived 
there  now  and  who  had  lived  there  during  the  years 
since  Prosperity  and  Progress  had  passed  it  by. 
Amelie  thought  of  the  joyousness  that  must  have 
lightened  those  lofty  old  rooms  in  other  far-distant 
days.  Was  any  of  its  light  reflected  there  for  him? 
Or  was  this  life  of  the  long  ago  expanded  to  a 
brighter,  more  beautiful  existence,  leaving  its  dead 
shell  as  a  cocoon  becomes  a  gorgeous  butterfly  and 
leaves  its  empty  house  to  circumstance  and  to  time  ? 
A  great  desire  took  hold  of  her  just  for  an  instant— 
a  desire  that  she  did  not  express  even  in  thought  but 
which  touched  her  soul.  She  wanted  somehow  to 
open  those  closed  blinds  and  let  the  sunlight  flood  in. 
— she  wanted  to  dispel  the  gloom  with  her  own 
laughter,  to  make  the  shadows  fly  with  the  bright- 
ness of  her  own  joy! 

Then  a  little  elfish  temptation  nagged  her.  She 
had  an  irresistible  desire  to  go  up  those  steps,  to 
enter  that  door,  to  stand  inside  those  walls,  and — 
yes,  she  could  but  admit  it,  to  breathe  for  just  a  little 
moment  in  his  dwelling-place.  Some  invisible  force 

159 


RECORD  NO.  33 


impelled  her  and  she  went  resolutely  and  without 
hesitation  straight  toward  that  door  and  standing 
there  on  those  very  steps  where  he  must  so  often 
have  paused  to  let  himself  in,  she  rang  the  bell! 

Only  when  she  stood  within  the  upper  hall,  with 
its  dingy  paper  and  its  neglected  aspect,  did  she  begin 
faintly  to  realize  what  she  had  done.  How  disap- 
pointing it  was!  How  dreary  and  uninteresting! 
She  almost  wished  she  had  left  the  inside  of  this 
house  to  her  imagination.  These  things  came  to  her 
as  she  stood  before  a  polite  old  negro  man  who 
seemed  the  guardian  of  that  inner  portal.  She  was 
surprised  at  the  steadiness  of  her  own  voice  as  she 
asked: 

"Is  Professor  Marville  in?"  But  what  if  he  were 
in?  What  should  she  say?  What  should  she  do? 
Would  she  have  the  courage  to  ask,  as  she  had 
intended  doing,  about  some  French  lessons?  Miss 
Warren  had  told  her  that  he  did  give  private  les- 
sons sometimes.  She  was  saved  that  embarrassment, 
however. 

"Professor  Marville  is  not  in,  miss,"  the  old  man 
replied.  UI  am  not  expecting  him."  At  that  mo- 
ment the  telephone  rang  and  the  man  opened  the 
door  courteously.  "Just  step  in,  ma'm,"  he  said 
politely,  "while  I  answer  the  'phone.  It  may  be  a 
message  from  his  mother  about  when  he  is  coming." 

1 60 


AN  IDEA  AND  A  FISIT 


Amelie  went  into  the  room  as  softly,  as  reverently 
as  if  she  were  slipping  into  a  dream. 

What  magic  was  this?  How  different  it  was  from 
the  outside  I  Here,  within  this  room,  was  a  soul  ex- 
pressed! How  delightfully  human  and  personal 
everything  seemed !  There  were  books  and  pictures, 
some  of  those  she  knew  and  loved  best.  There  was 
a  wide,  delightful  couch  with  soft  cushions  and  over 
it  from  the  rear  a  shaded  lamp  was  arranged.  There 
was  an  air  of  comfort,  of  peace.  The  early  after- 
noon sun  came  in  the  broad  windows  and  shed  a  flood 
of  light  over  the  girl,  standing  there,  radiant  and 
lovely,  in  the  midst  of  her  dream. 

Then  the  servant  came  back.  No,  he  was  sorry, 
but  the  message  was  not  from  Mrs.  Marville.  He 
really  could  not  say  when  the  Professor  would  re- 
turn. Would  she  leave  a  card,  a  message?  And 
the  next  moment  she  was  in  the  street  again.  She 
could  never  remember  just  how  she  left  or  what  she 
said,  she  only  saw  again  and  again  that  room,  with 
its  quiet  tones,  its  restful  chairs  and  wide  couch,  its 
shaded  lights,  its  books  and  pictures.  And  into  the 
setting  came  always  her  dream  lover. 

It  was  only  after  she  got  back  to  the  hotel  that 
she  sat  down  and  tried  to  think  it  all  out.  It  seemed 
an  age  since  she  had  come  to  New  York,  and  yet 
her  first  day  was  just  ending.  She  was  beginning  to 

161 


RECORD  NO.  33 


feel  as  if  she  were  waking  up  from  a  strange  dream. 
Her  head  felt  light  and  her  heart  felt  heavy  with  a 
peculiar  burden.  What  was  all  this  mystery  and 
why  had  she  fallen  headlong  into  it?  And  was  she 
really  into  it  or  not?  This  she  could  not  answer 
for  she  did  not  know.  Did  her  precious  Record  No. 
33  have  any  connection,  would  it  furnish  a  clue  to 
the  mystery?  Again  she  could  not  answer. 

Her  last  delightful  adventure !  How  wonderful, 
how  delicious,  how  unexpected  it  had  been!  She 
looked  around  the  impersonal,  frigid-looking  room 
in  which  she  sat,  and  she  thought  again  of  that  other 
room.  How  different  it  was.  How  it  seemed  to 
suggest  the  longings,  taste,  habits,  the  very  life  of 
its  occupant.  She  tried  to  make  her  senses  convey 
to  that  part  of  her  which  lived  beyond  the  senses, 
a  realization  that  she  had  stood  for  those  few  en- 
trancing moments  in  his  very  own  room.  But  she 
had  not  yet  taken  it  in.  She  pictured  him  there,  read- 
ing, thinking,  on  that  spacious  couch,  under  the 
shaded  light — even  while  she  was  learning  to  love 
his  voice  down  in  Kentucky. 

She  thought  over  every  word  that  Miss  Warren 
had  told  her  concerning  the  making  of  the  records; 
how  her  French  Professor  really  talked  into  those 
cold  heartless  machines;  how  he  had  spoken  out  of 
his  heart  that  day  that  Mr.  Channing  was  trying  his 

162 


AN  IDEA  AND  A  VISIT 


new  invention;  how  he  had  obeyed  Mr.  Channing's 
instructions  to  speak  in  a  soft  conversational  tone 
just  as  if  he  were  talking  to  someone  near  him;  how 
every  tone  in  his  dear  voice  had  been  caught  and  of 
how  human  it  was,  when  it  spoke  to  her  from  the 
little  machine.  She  longed  to  get  out  the  machine 
and  to  put  on  this  mysterious  Record  No.  33  and 
hear  it  all  over  again.  But  she  remembered  that  she 
was  in  a  public  hotel  and  she  dreaded  lest  someone 
should  hear. 

Then  she  fell  to  thinking  of  her  own  folly  and  the 
dream  faded.  Mr.  Cartwright  was  right.  This  was 
a  foolish  thing  for  her  to  do.  Here  she  was  in  New 
York  spending  money  every  minute  and  without  an 
object  in  the  world  except  to  see  or  hear  from  the 
French  Professor  directly  and  this  now  seemed  im- 
possible. Miss  Warren  had  said  that  he  was  in 
Europe  and  she  supposed  he  would  be  away  until 
Fall.  His  servant  was  not  sure  when  he  would  re- 
turn. What  chance  had  she  to  see  him,  and  even  if 
he  were  to  come  to  New  York  how  could  she  see 
him?  Doubtless  she  should  never  meet  Miss  War- 
ren again  and  she  certainly  had  nothing  to  take  her 
to  see  Mr.  Lawrence  now.  There  was,  so  far  as  she 
could  see,  no  connecting  link  between  her  and  any- 
thing or  anybody  connected  with  the  French  Profes- 
sor, and  she  seemed  no  nearer  to  him  then  than  she 

163 


RECORD  NO.  33 


had  been  when  she  had  his  voice  in  the  little  tin  box 
in  Merryville.  She  wished  she  were  back — she  even 
wished  that  she  had  never  started — and  still,  she  felt 
as  if  she  were  wound  up  and  that  she  must  keep  spin- 
ning, spinning,  spinning — that  she  could  not  stop. 
And  then  there  was  the  hypnotizing  deliciousness  of 
the  old  dream  in  its  new  setting  stealing  over  her 
whole  consciousness  again!  Did  she  want  to  stop? 
Were  not  more  wonderful  things  happening  every 
hour?  Was  she  not  even  then  sitting  there  waiting 
for  the  curtain  to  be  drawn  aside  by  some  invisible 
hand  and  reveal  to  her  some  other  scene  in  this  won- 
der-filled drama  in  which  she  had  been  so  strangely, 
so  inevitably  cast?  Yes,  she  was  waiting  for  some- 
thing, she  knew  not  what. , 


CHAPTER   XII 

AN    UNEXPECTED   GUEST 

THE  telephone  in  her  room  at  the  hotel  rang 
loudly  and  long — and  the  sound  startled  her. 
Who  could  be  wanting  to  speak  to  her? 
Whom  did  she  know  in  New  York?  Once  she 
thought  certainly  it  must  be  a  mistake  and  she  would 
not  answer,  but  the  bell  was  persistent  and  continued 
to  ring  until  she  took  the  receiver  from  the  hook  and 
put  it  to  her  ear.  She  heard  indistinctly  at  first,  and 
then  she  knew  that  Miss  Warren  was  at  the  other 
end  of  the  wire. 

"Can  you  be  ready  at  five  o'clock?"  she  was  say- 
ing. "Carter  Raines  and  I  would  like  to  take  you 
for  an  automobile  drive." 

Why  certainly  she  could  and  how  lovely  of  Miss 
Warren,  and  when  she  hung  the  receiver  up  again 
she  was  more  mystified  and  more  dazed  than 
ever. 

Why  should  Miss  Warren  and  Carter  Raines  take 
her  automobile  driving?  What  was  she  to  them  and 

165 


RECORD  NO.  33 


had  they  not  made  fun  of  her  and  laughed  at  her 
simplicity  and  foolishness  that  morning?  Never- 
theless these  things  had  not  occurred  to  her  soon 
enough.  She  had  accepted  the  invitation  and  it  was 
already  past  four  o'clock  and  she  had  said  she  would 
be  ready  at  five.  Spinning,  spinning,  spinning — 
there  she  was  going  again  without  time  to  think  or 
to  decide  what  she  was  going  to  do  next.  Again 
she  put  off  the  hard  serious  thinking  and  accepted 
what  the  moment  offered. 

Two  hours  later  she  was  luxuriating  among  the 
back  cushions  of  the  rear  seat  of  a  touring-car  that 
was  as  big  and  as  handsome  as  any  of  those  that 
passed  them  as  they  sailed  up  Fifth  Avenue.  She 
was  sitting  between  Miss  Warren  and  Carter  Raines, 
who  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  conversation  and  who 
showed  that  they  were  having  what  Miss  Warren 
called  "the  time  of  their  lives."  She  was  absorbed 
in  her  own  thoughts  and  enthralled  with  the  picture 
of  a  certain  room,  a  picture  that  kept  coming  back 
to  her  mind  with  startling  vividness. 

"Gee,  but  I  like  this!"  Carter  was  saying  as  he 
pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  and  sat  back  to 
take  the  wind  full  in  his  face.  "I  wasn't  made  for 
office  work,"  and  Amelie  thought  of  how  exquisitely 
he  had  acted  his  part  in  that  formal  little  office.  In 
fact,  he  really  looked  more  like  himself  there  than 

166 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 


he  did  sunk  in  the  cushions  of  the  big  automobile. 
But  he  was  evidently  of  another  opinion. 

"If  I  could  get  that  five  thousand,"  he  continued, 
"the  first  thing  I  would  do  would  be  to  get  a  car 
of  some  kind." 

"Where  do  you  think  you  buy  these — at  the  five- 
and  ten-cent  store?"  asked  Miss  Warren  with  mock 
seriousness.  "You  couldn't  fly  far  on  five  thousand, 
Carter,"  she  added  in  a  patronizing,  indulgent  tone. 

"While  I  was  flying,  though,  I'd  fly,"  he  said. 

Every  now  and  then  Amelie  would  catch  glances 
that  were  passing  between  her  companions,  and  she 
knew  that  they  were  highly  amused.  Just  what  it 
was  about  she  did  not  know  any  more  than  she  knew 
how  she  happened  to  be  spinning  up  Fifth  Avenue 
at  that  moment  in  a  big  automobile  with  Carter 
Raines,  an  office-boy,  on  one  side  of  her,  and  Miss 
Warren,  a  stenographer,  on  the  other.  She  was 
meditating  on  these  strange  things  at  the  moment 
when  Carter  was  giving  orders  to  the  chauffeur  in  a 
very  grave  and  off-hand  way,  being  prompted  from 
time  to  time  by  Miss  Warren. 

Amelie  was  enjoying  the  drive  thoroughly  and 
Miss  Warren  kindly  pointed  out  to  her  places  of  in- 
terest along  the  way. 

"Where  shall  we  dine?"  asked  Carter  with  a  very 

lordly  air. 

167 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"What's  the  matter  with  the  Waldorf-Astoria?" 
Miss  Warren  shot  back  with  the  same  magnificent 
manner. 

"Nothing's  the  matter  with  the  Waldorf,"  he  re- 
turned wearily,  as  if  dining  at  the  Waldorf  were  to 
him  a  mere  daily  habit.  "But  there's  more  class  to 
the  Ritz."  Then  followed  a  mild  argument  as  to 
whether  the  Waldorf  was  a  "back  number"  or  not. 
Finally  they  appealed  to  Amelie  to  cast  the  deciding 
vote  and  she  did  not  hesitate  to  choose  the  Wal- 
dorf. 

If  Carter  Raines,  office-boy,  and  Miss  Warren, 
stenographer,  were  not  accustomed  to  spinning  up 
the  Avenue  in  a  big  machine  and  dining  at  the  Wal- 
dorf-Astoria afterwards  they  gave  no  sign  of  it,  and 
Amelie,  had  she  known  Carter  a  little  better,  would 
have  seriously  advised  him  that  his  real  forte  was 
acting.  His  ability  in  that  line  amazed  her.  In  fact, 
she  was  almost  convinced  that  histrionic  gifts  were 
the  first  requisite  to  successful  life  in  New  York. 

If  she  pictured  herself  a  Sybarite  as  she  spun  up 
the  Avenue  how  really  and  truly  grand  she  felt  as 
the  big  car  drew  up  at  the  Thirty-fourth  Street  en- 
trance of  the  Waldorf-Astoria  and  she  stepped  out 
on  the  pavement  just  as  other  ladies  were  stepping 
out,  and  just  as  she  had  seen  them  in  the  magazines 
and  occasionally  in  a  flickering  moving-picture  down 

168 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 


in  Merryville.  There  was  something  especially 
queenly  in  the  mere  act  of  stepping  from  the  car, 
with  Carter  Raines,  the  gentleman  of  leisure  now 
and  not  the  office-boy — touching  her  elbow  as  she 
alighted,  just  as  the  splendid-looking  gentlemen 
were  touching  the  elbows  of  the  exquisitely  dressed 
ladies  as  they  alighted  from  their  cars.  Truly  if  the* 
morning  had  been  crammed  full  of  surprises  the 
thrills  of  the  evening  were  far  more  delicious. 

She  thought  the  big  man  in  the  uniform  who 
guarded  the  doorway  looked  at  her  queerly,  and  in- 
deed she  did  seem  a  slightly  discordant  note  in  that 
gay  throng.  But,  if  her  dress  was  not  in  the  latest 
fashion,  it  was  simple  and  well  fitting  and  she  was 
dainty  and  well  groomed  and  her  face  was  fair  and 
smiling. 

She  followed  Miss  Warren  and  Carter  Raines 
through  the  lobby,  into  first  one  brilliant  room  and 
then  another,  and  then  down  the  long  "alley"  which 
was  softly  carpeted,  gloriously  lighted  and  which 
was  bordered  with  rows  of  high-backed  chairs  in 
which  gorgeously  gowned  ladies  were  sitting. 
Amelie  noticed  their  faces  in  which  she  read  either 
settled  and  hardened  unhappiness  or  a  nervous  un- 
rest. There  were  beautiful  faces  there,  but  there 
was  not  one  from  which  a  pure  soul  seemed  to  gleam. 

To  her  they  seemed  faces  whose  beauty  had  faded 

169 


RECORD  NO.  33 


and  in  which  art  was  doing  its  best  to  recall  the  with- 
ered bloom. 

Another  few  minutes  and  they  were  seated  at  a 
table  in  an  oval  room  of  greater  splendor  than 
Amelie  had  ever  dreamed  of.  It  was  much  more 
beautiful  than  any  picture  she  had  ever  seen,  and  she 
felt  again  the  peculiar,  dizzy  sensation  that  she  was 
spinning,  spinning,  spinning,  and  that  she  could  not 
stop.  Somehow  she  thought  of  the  picture — her 
favorite  picture  at  home.  Her  life  there,  the  dreary 
waste,  and  this  life — this  life  the  glimpse  of  glory  in 
the  distance. 

The  brilliancy  of  the  lights,  the  glitter  of  the  table 
appointments,  the  weird  and  enticing  strains  of  mu- 
sic, the  splendid  beauty  of  the  flowers,  the  hypnotic 
harmony  of  design  in  the  furnishings  and  the  intoxi- 
cating riot  of  colors  and  sounds  furnished  by  the 
groups  of  guests  at  the  various  tables,  made  her  feel 
as  if  she  were  in  a  new  world,  a  world  which  was  op- 
erating under  new  laws,  with  new  standards  and 
inhabited  by  beings  wholly  different  from  those  who 
inhabited  the  world  she  knew. 

Carter  Raines  and  Miss  Warren  seemed  to  be 
having  some  amusing  difficulties  over  the  order,  and 
as  they  put  their  heads  together  and  giggled  and  con- 
sulted over  the  menu  the  waiter  stood  as  motionless 
as  death  with  his  pencil  poised,  and  his  ear  inclined 

170 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 


toward  her  host  and  hostess,  who,  she  was  thankful 
to  notice,  were  relieving  her  of  all  responsibility  as 
to  the  order.  The  waiter  himself  was  not  the  least 
interesting  object  to  her  amid  these  new  and  ex- 
tremely fascinating  surroundings.  She  thought  he 
seemed  hardly  human,  but  more  like  an  automaton, 
just  as  Carter  Raines  had  looked  when  she  had  seen 
him  first.  He  seemed  to  regard  them  merely  as  ani- 
mated appetites,  and  if  he  had  a  consciousness  be- 
yond that  he  gave  no  sign  of  it.  While  Miss  Warren 
and  Carter  Raines  hung  on  what  seemed  the  very 
verge  of  a  decision  as  to  whether  they  would  choose 
this  dish  or  that,  he  remained  unmoved.  But  the 
moment  the  matter  was  settled  he  wrote  the  words  of 
the  order  mechanically  and  immediately  resumed  his 
attitude  of  statuesque  indifference.  Amelie  looked 
at  him  curiously,  as  he  was  quite  a  different  specimen 
from  any  she  had  seen,  and  she  wondered  if  he  really 
lived  like  a  human  being  when  he  was  outside  that 
funereal-looking  costume  and  that  magic  room — 
whether  he  had  joys  and  sorrows  and  likes  and  dis- 
likes, and  even  if  he  loved  and  was  loved.  Then  she 
looked  at  Carter  Raines  and  remembered  that  other 
self  of  his  she  had  first  known  in  that  office  and  she 
knew  there  was  hope  for  the  waiter,  hopeless  as  he 
looked  at  that  time. 

The  momentous  question  of  what  to  order  having 
171 


RECORD  NO.  33 


been  settled  wholly  without  her  assistance  Miss  War- 
ren turned  to  her,  smiling. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "how  do  you  like  this?" 

"I  think  it  is  beautiful  and  splendid,"  returned 
Amelie  enthusiastically.  "I  think  it  is  very  kind  in- 
deed of  you  and  Mr.  Raines  to  allow  me  to  share  in 
these  pleasures  with  you." 

"Oh,  it  was  really  on  your  account  that  we  came," 
said  Miss  Warren,  and  she  winked  slightly  and 
looked  knowingly  at  Carter.  "In  fact,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  you  we  would  both  have  been  back  in  that 
stuffy  old  office  all  afternoon.  I'll  tell  you,  I  have 
certainly  enjoyed  it  and  I  wouldn't  mind  doing  it 
every  day  for  a  while." 

"Well,  aren't  we  going  to  do  it  every  day  for  a 
while?"  asked  Carter,  leaning  over  and  looking  in- 
tently at  Miss  Warren. 

"Certainly,  we  are,"  she  replied  quickly,  return- 
ing his  look.  "We  are  going  to  have  some  fun  for 
these  next  few  days,  if  we  never  have  any  more  the 
rest  of  our  lives." 

Miss  Warren  continually  watched  the  door 
through  which  the  evening  crowd  was  surging  and 
Carter  teased  her. 

"Expecting  any  of  your  friends?  I  suppose  they 
all  dine  here?"  he  said  sarcastically. 

"No,  not  exactly,"  she  returned,  "but  I  do  wish 
172 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 


somebody  from  home  would  drop  in — Oh,  if  they 
could  see  me  now!" 

"Isn't  it  great,"  said  Carter  sympathetically  and 
enthusiastically.  "And  to  think,"  he  added  aside  to 
Miss  Warren,  "it's  all  on  the  house." 

And  the  next  moment  something  happened. 

Miss  Warren  jumped  excitedly  and  shook  Carter 
by  the  arm. 

"Look,  look,"  she  said.  "There's  Professor  Mar- 
ville!" 

"Where?"  exclaimed  Carter  hurriedly.  "Gee,  but 
won't  he  be  surprised?" 

"He  passed  the  door  and  went  toward  the  office. 
Go  and  find  him,  Carter — quick,  before  he  is  lost. 
I  am  sure  he  went  toward  the  office." 

Carter  left  the  table  and  disappeared  in  the  crowd 
outside  the  door  and  Miss  Warren  said  absently  to* 
Amelie  while  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  the 
door, 

"I  was  quite  sure  I  saw  one  of  our  professors — 
Professor  Marville,  the  one  who  made  the  records 
for  the  French  machine,  you  know.  I  may  have  been 
mistaken  but  I  was  quite  sure  I  saw  him.  I'm  dying 
to  see  how  he  will  look  and  hear  what  he  will  say 
when  he  sees  us  here  like  this." 

Amelie's  heart  was  palpitating  wildly  and  she  felt 
as  if  she  were  looking  at  a  wonderful  picture.  She 

173 


RECORD  NO.  33 


saw  the  moving  crowd,  the  gorgeous  colors;  the  mu- 
sic floated  in  upon  her  senses;  the  fragrance  of  the 
flowers  came  to  her  like  a  far-off  memory,  but  her 
very  soul  seemed  to  stand  still,  suspended  in  the 
midst  of  this  strange,  beautiful  scene.  She  did  not 
know  how  long  a  time  elapsed  nor  could  she  remem- 
ber afterwards  whether  or  not  she  had  spoken  a 
word  or  made  a  motion.  She  only  knew  then  and  she 
only  remembered  afterwards  that  through  that  magic 
doorway,  out  of  the  surging  throng,  into  the  bril- 
liant beauty  of  that  dream  room  had  come  her 
French  Professor!  And  as  he  took  her  hand  firmly 
in  his  own  and  looked  into  her  eyes,  she  heard  his 
voice — the  voice  she  loved,  now  far  more  beautiful, 
more  sympathetic,  more  mellow,  as  if  it  had  filtered 
through  the  gossamer  of  millions  of  dreams,  and 
she  heard  him  say, 

"How  are  you  this  evening?  I  hope  you  are  well." 
The  room  with  its  crowds  faded,  the  sensuous  mu- 
sic drifted  away,  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers  died, 
the  glitter  and  the  shimmer  vanished  and  there  came 
again  to  her  clear  soul  the  solitude  of  the  little  ca- 
thedral garden,  the  caroling  of  the  birds  in  the 
crepe  myrtle  trees,  the  scent  of  the  lilacs  and  the  lilies 
in  springtime,  the  gleam  of  the  dew  on  the  flowers 
and  over  it  all  floated  the  mist  of  a  dream — a  dream 
that  was  coming  true  ! 

174 


AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST 


"Why  certainly — you  must  stop  and  have  dinner 
with  us,"  and  Amelie  came  back  to  the  lights  and 
the  crowds  and  to  her  companions.  It  was  Carter 
Raines  who  was  speaking. 

"Thank  you,  very  much,"  said  the  Professor  in 
polite,  quiet  tones.  "I  really  cannot." 

"Oh,  but  you  must,"  insisted  Miss  Warren.  "We 
will  take  no  excuse." 

The  Professor  seemed  perplexed  and  a  look  of  un- 
deniable inquiry  was  in  his  face. 

"I  have  returned  from  abroad  only  to-day,"  he 
said,  simply,  "and  have  scarcely  seen  my  dear  mother 
at  all.  I  only  ran  out  for  an  hour  with  her  and  then 
had  to  come  straight  back  to  the  city  to  attend  to 
some  business.  I  merely  dropped  in  here  to  send  a 
telegram.  How  very  strange  that  I  should  find  you 
here." 

"How  very  strange  indeed,"  echoed  Amelie  in 
her  heart  as  if  the  "you"  had  included  only  herself. 

"Well,  you  have  not  dined  yet,  have  you?"  asked 
Carter. 

"Not  yet,"  he  replied,  "but  I  really  must  hurry 
on.  It  was  very  kind  indeed  of  you,  Carter,  to  look 
me  up  and  I  am  glad  to  have  had  this  opportunity  of 
speaking  with  you."  He  was  looking  into  Amelie's 
eyes  now  and  extending  his  hand. 

"I  particularly  wanted  you  to  meet  Miss  Trent," 
175 


RECORD  NO.  33 


said  Miss  Warren,  "because  she  is  from  Louisiana, 
and  she  is  as  foolishly  fond  of  it  as  you  are." 

A  swift  ray  of  surprised  pleasure  lit  up  the  Pro- 
fessor's face  and  in  that  moment  he  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  everything  except  the  little  woman  into 
whose  melting  eyes  he  was  looking  questioningly. 

"From  Louisiana  I"  he  said  softly.  "How  very 
interesting !  But  I  am  quite  sure  I  would  have  known 
it  had  I  thought  for  an  instant."  The  voice — how 
infinitely  more  soft  and  tender  it  was  now  than  it 
had  seemed  to  her  in  the  machine !  The  kind,  quiet 
eyes — they,  too,  did  not  seem  strangers  to  her  own. 

"You  may  not  be  aware  of  it,"  she  returned 
sweetly,  and  a  smile  lit  her  face  with  a  wondrous 
radiance,  "but  you  are  really  paying  me  a  very  de- 
cided compliment."  , 

"But,  I  do  realize  it,"  he  said  with  an  answering 
smile.  "I  think  I  am  paying  you  the  very  greatest 
compliment  I  could  pay  you.  All  that  is  best  and 
most  beautiful  to  me  is  typified  in  the  women  of  the 
South.  I  have  idealized  them  so  long  and  so  much 
that  I  almost  dread  to  go  back  to  Louisiana  for  fear 
some  of  my  illusions  will  be  dispelled — but  still  what 
a  real  pleasure  it  is  to  meet  one  who  is  typical  of  the 
land  one  loves." 

"I  must  not  sail  under  false  colors,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing again.  "I  think  I  must  be  more  a  Kentuckian 

176 


"  'From  Louisiana !'  he  said  softly.    'How  very  interesting !' 


than  I  am  a  Louisianian  now,  for  I  have  lived  in 
Kentucky  so  long." 

"Kentucky,"  he  said  brightly,  "another  word  to 
conjure  with." 

The  waiters  began  to  get  busy  with  the  service 
and  this  reminded  him  that  he  must  be  going. 

"But  I  really  must  go,"  he  said,  and  then  he  looked 
inquiringly  at  Carter  and  at  Miss  Warren.  He  was 
at  a  loss.  What  did  this  mean — what  were  they  do- 
ing here,  the  office-boy,  the  stenographer  and  this 
strange  little  woman  from  the  South?  All  of  these 
questions  Amelie  thought  she  read  in  his  face  as  he 
looked  at  first  one  and  then  the  other  of  her  com- 
panions. 

They  insisted  that  he  dine  with  them  and  assured 
him  it  was  "perfectly  all  right."  Indeed,  as  if  to 
dispel  all  doubts  of  a  certain  character  that  might 
have  been  troubling  the  Professor,  Carter  took  a 
roll  of  money  out  of  his  pocket  and  showed  it  to  the 
Professor  under  the  corner  of  the  table.  The  Pro- 
fessor was  not  one  who  could  hide  his  feelings.  He 
was  plainly  surprised  but  still  seemed  doubtful.  Then 
he  looked  at  Amelie  with  her  sweet,  fair  face,  pure 
and  serene  in  repose  and  sunny  and  lovely  when  it 
was  illumined  with  a  smile.  Something  in  her  face 
seemed  to  reassure  him  and  he  showed  signs  of  weak- 
ening. 

177 


RECORD  NO.  33 


ing  the  records?  It  was  the  day  he  made  that  Lou- 
isiana one  for  you?" 

"Yes,  I  remember  that  quite  distinctly,"  he  said, 
"but  the  reward — what  of  that?" 

"Well,  I'm  coming  to  that,  Professor — don't  be 
impatient." 

And  Miss  Warren  explained  how  Mr.  Channing 
had  made  this  record  containing  the  formula  for  the 
new  process;  how  Mr.  Chalmers  had  locked  it,  as 
he  thought,  securely  in  his  safe;  how  when  he  took 
it  out  weeks  later  he  discovered  that  it  was  not  the 
secret  record,  but  Record  No.  33  of  the  language 
lesson;  how  agitated  he  had  been,  how  he  had  final- 
ly offered  the  reward  of  five  thousand  dollars,  and 
of  the  interest  and  excitement  over  it  both  in  the 
language  school  and  in  Mr.  Chalmers'  establish- 
ment. 

The  Professor  listened  very  intently,  asking  ques- 
tions at  intervals  and  evidently  trying  to  get  the 
whole  matter  thoroughly  fixed  in  his  mind.  Amelie's 
whole  consciousness  was  awake  to  him  only.  She 
saw  and  heard  only  him.  It  was  all  too  wonderful 
to  be  true.  She  would  scarcely  have  been  surprised 
if  the  whole  scene,  Professor  and  all,  had  melted  be- 
fore her  eyes.  She  heard,  as  if  from  a  distance,  Miss 
Warren's  recital.  She  listened  only  to  his  voice,  saw 
only  his  face.  How  well  he  fitted  into  the  dear 

180 


MISS  WARREN'S  CARBON  COPY 

dream  picture  of  that  room  in  which  she  had  stood 
for  a  few  precious  moments  that  afternoon ! 

When  the  whole  story  had  been  told  he  sat  in 
silent  meditation  for  a  full  minute,  seemingly  obliv- 
ious of  the  other  members  of  the  company,  and  of 
the  crowd  and  the  noise  about  him.  Then  suddenly 
he  turned  to  Amelie. 

"Isn't  this  interesting?"  he  said  quietly.  "Think 
of  coming  home  from  Europe  and  plunging  headlong 
into  a  mystery  within  a  few  hours  after  oneTs  arrival. 
I  experienced  nothing  half  so  exciting  while  abroad," 
he  declared.  "But  Miss  Trent — has  she  anything 
to  do  with  all  this  pretty  and  interesting  story?" 
And  he  turned  again  to  Miss  Warren  with  inquiry  in 
his  tone  and  look. 

"Well,  she  has  and  then  she  hasn't,"  and  Miss 
Warren  and  Carter  Raines  laughed  heartily  and  ex- 
changed meaning  looks. 

"Tell  me,  Miss  Trent,"  said  the  Professor,  "how 
and  where  do  you  come  in?  What  role  are  you  play- 
ing? Have  you  come  up  from  Kentucky  to  claim  the 
reward?" 

"No,"  she  returned,  laughing,  and  things  were 
now  almost  beginning  to  seem  real  to  her  again. 
"When  I  came  up  from  Kentucky  I  was  as  ignorant 
of  this  interesting  situation  as  you  were  when  you 
joined  us  a  little  while  ago.  But  I  do  seem  to  be  in 

181 


RECORD  NO.  33 


it  somehow — I  don't  know  exactly  why  or  how,  and 
if  you  find  out  I  want  you  to  promise  me  you  will  let 
me  know."  She  laughed  merrily  and  the  Professor 
looked  more  mystified  than  ever. 

Miss  Warren  was  digging  into  her  bag  and  in  a 
moment  she  drew  out  several  typewritten  sheets 
which  she  glanced  over  and  spread  out  on  the  table 
before  her. 

"Go  on,  Carter,  you  begin,"  she  said. 

"I  think  Miss  Trent  ought  really  to  begin,"  said 
Carter.  "She  knows  the  real  beginning  of  how  she 
got  into  it  all,  and  I  don't.  All  I  know  is  that  she 
came  into  the  office  this  morning,  and  that  I  handed 
her  the  yellow  slip  such  as  I  hand  to  everyone  else 
who  comes  in,  and  that  she  filled  it  out.  I  never 
have  found  out  myself  just  exactly  why  she  came." 

Amelie  felt  uncomfortable.  She  had  not  been  able 
thoroughly  to  satisfy  anybody  up  to  that  time  as  to 
just  why  she  had  come  to  New  York,  and  as  to  just 
why  she  had  called  to  see  Mr.  Lawrence  that  morn- 
ing concerning  Record  No.  33.  The  real  explana- 
tion she  simply  could  not  make,  and  the  one  she  tried 
to  make  no  one  seemed  willing  to  accept.  She 
dreaded  having  to  go  over  it  again,  and  above  all 
she  did  not  like  to  put  herself  in  either  a  false  or  an 
uncertain  light  in  the  eyes  of  the  Professor.  She 
realized  that  she  could  tell  part  of  the  truth,  but  that 

182 


MISS  WARREN'S  CARBON  COPY 

she  could  never  tell  the  whole  truth.  She  was  em- 
barrassed and  she  felt  at  a  decided  disadvantage. 

"I  have  very  little  to  tell,"  she  began,  almost  tim- 
idly and  feeling  exceedingly  ill  at  ease.  "When  I 
came  to  New  York  yesterday  I  thought  I  would  call 
in  to  see  Mr.  Lawrence  and  simply  ask  him  some- 
thing about  Record  No.  33 " 

"Pardon  me,"  interrupted  the  Professor,  "but 
may  I  ask  how  you  knew  about  the  record  and  the 
reward?"  And  again  Amelie  felt,  as  she  had  felt 
that  morning,  that  she  was  being  tried  for  a  crime. 

"Oh,  I  got  a  phonograph  with  the  records  for  the 
French  language,  you  know,  and  one  day  I  got  a  re- 
quest from  Mr.  Lawrence  to  return  my  Record  No. 
33.  But  you  must  understand  there  was  nothing  in 
that  letter  about  the  reward  and  when  I  went  into  the 
office  this  morning  I  had  not  heard  of  that." 

"Yes?"  said  the  Professor,  now  deeply  interested. 
"What  next?" 

"You  see,  Professor,"  said  Miss  Warren,  "we  had 
sent  out  notices  about  the  offer  of  five  thousand  dol- 
lars but  Miss  Trent  had  left  Kentucky  before  her 
letter  reached  there  and  so  she  did  not  get  it.  But 
she  came  into  the  office  this  morning  and  when  Car- 
ter gave  her  a  little  yellow  slip  to  fill  out  here  is  what 
she  wrote."  And  Amelie  was  surprised  to  see  the 
same  little  yellow  slip  that  was  still  an  important 

183 


RECORD  NO.  33 


piece  of  evidence  in  the  case.  It  was  soiled  and 
crumpled  but  Miss  Warren  had  rescued  it  and  had 
brought  it  with  her. 

The  Professor  looked  at  it  attentively — read  every 
word  of  it  and  then  read  it  all  over  again.  Then  he 
looked  at  Amelie.  It  was  plain  that  he  was  puzzled. 

"You  merely  wanted  to  see  him  about  the  record 
— you  didn't  know  anything  about  his  secret  record 
or  its  disappearance,  did  you?"  And  he  was  cross- 
questioning  her  now.  Would  this  eternal  quizzing 
never  cease?  It  was  getting  almost  unbearable  and 
now  that  he  had  begun  it  she  felt  that  she  could  not 
stand  it. 

She  realized  that  she  must  have  appeared  ex- 
tremely silly  that  morning  and  that  she  must  appear 
so  to  the  French  Professor  now,  but  there  was  noth- 
ing else  for  her  to  say  or  do  different  from  what  she 
had  already  said  and  done. 

"I  know  absolutely  nothing  about  this  secret  rec- 
ord," she  said,  "and  I  certainly  had  no  thought  of 
getting  into  this  mystery.  And  really,  I  can't  see 
just  why  I  am  in  it."  She  seemed  as  puzzled  as  he 
was  and  both  of  them  looked  serious.  Miss  Warren 
and  Carter  only  laughed  hysterically  just  as  they  had 
been  doing  all  afternoon. 

"When  I  saw  that  slip,"  said  Carter,  suppressing 
his  mirth  for  the  moment,  "of  course,  I  got  excited 

184 


MISS  WARREN'S  CARBON  COPY 

because  I  supposed  of  course  Miss  Trent  had  come 
to  claim  the  reward,  and  when  Miss  Warren  came 
in,  in  answer  to  my  ring,  I  showed  it  to  her  and  she 
thought  just  as  I  did." 

Miss  Warren  explained  how  Amelie  came  into 
the  office  that  morning,  and  she  related  what  Mr. 
Lawrence  had  said,  how  she  had  called  Mr.  Chal- 
mers by  'phone,  how  she  had  kept  Amelie  waiting  in 
the  private  office  and  how  finally  Mr.  Chalmers  had 
arrived.  Amelie  was  gradually  getting  a  perspective 
on  the  whole  thing,  she  was  beginning  to  realize  the 
absurdity  of  her  own  position,  to  see  herself  as  they 
doubtless  saw  her. 

"Mr.  Lawrence  called  me  in  to  take  notes  of  the 
conversation,"  she  finished,  "and  I  kept  this  carbon 
to  show  Carter.  This  is  a  full  account  of  exactly 
what  happened  in  Mr.  Lawrence's  private  office  this 
morning — every  word  that  was  spoken  I  took  down," 
and  she  passed  the  sheets  over  to  the  Professor. 

The  Professor's  dinner  remained  untouched  be- 
fore him  while  he  read  the  pages  with  thoughtful 
care.  Not  once  did  he  look  up  or  speak  until  he  had 
finished  them.  Then  he  folded  them  carefully  and 
handed  them  back  to  Miss  Warren.  His  face,  for 
the  first  time,  gave  no  sign  of  what  was  in  his  mind. 
An  awkward  silence  followed. 

"And  all  this  happened  only  this  morning,  and 
185 


RECORD  NO.  33 


then  Miss  Trent  left  the  office  and  after  that  what 
happened?"  he  inquired,  looking  intently  at  Miss 
Warren.  "Have  you  a  carbon  of  what  happened 
next?" 

"Oh,  dear  no,"  she  said.  "I  don't  think  even  Mr. 
.  Channing's  new  records  would  have  caught  all  we 
have  said  and  done  since  then,  do  you,  Carter?  We 
have  certainly  been  going  some!" 

The  Professor  was  dallying  with  his  dinner  now, 
but  his  thoughts  were  evidently  elsewhere. 

"And  then  this  dinner  party "  he  continued, 

pursuing  the  thread  of  the  story  as  he  could  get  it 
from  first  one  and  then  the  other. 

"Well,  the  dinner  party  was  really  a  little  after- 
thought," said  Miss  Warren  airily.  "We  had  a 
long  spin  up  the  Avenue  this  afternoon " 

"A  long  spin  up  the  Avenue,"  the  Professor  re- 
peated slowly,  in  surprised  tones.  Once  more  he  for- 
got himself  and  his  eyes  were  serious  and  troubled 
behind  his  glasses.  He  looked  nervous  and  uncom- 
fortable. 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  Carter,  "if  you  had  been 
on  the  Avenue  this  afternoon  between  five  and  seven 
you  might  have  seen  us.  There  wasn't  a  finer  car  in 
the  procession  than  ours  was,"  he  added  with  his 
lordly  air  again. 

"Furthermore,"  finished  Miss  Warren,  "our  car 
i85 


MISS  WARREN'S  CARBON  COPY 

will  call  for  us  at  nine  o'clock  and  if  you  will  honor 
us  we  shall  be  glad  to  take  you  for  a  drive  before  you 
go  home.  We  had  thought  something  of  taking  a 
little  spin  after  dinner,  anyway." 

The  office-boy  and  the  stenographer,  a  quiet,  sweet 
little  woman  from  down  in  Kentucky,  and  himself, 
a  very  prominent  member  of  the  teaching  faculty  of 
a  leading  school — dining  together  at  the  Waldorf- 
Astoria  !  The  Professor  evidently  couldn't  fathom 
it  all  and  his  face  was  now  a  question  mark.  Some- 
times it  looked  as  if  Miss  Trent  might  be  playing  a 
trick  on  the  others  and  sometimes  it  looked  as  if  they 
were  playing  a  trick  on  her. 

"And  Mr.  Chalmers — what  does  he  think  of  it?" 
he  asked  after  a  pause. 

"Oh,  it  was  the  richest  thing  imaginable  to  see  him 
this  morning,"  said  Miss  Warren.  "He  was  think- 
ing about  having  to  pay  out  that  five  thousand." 

"Oh,  but  he  would  have  been  glad  to  pay  that  if 
only  that  mysterious  record  could  be  found,"  said 
Carter.  "It's  that  record  that  has  him  on  the  grill. 
He  knows  that  somebody  may  get  that  record,  learn 
his  secret  and  put  him  out  of  business — that's  what's 
worrying  Mr.  Chalmers." 

"He  wouldn't  suspect  Miss  Trent  of  being  so 
wily,  would  he?"  said  the  Professor  pleasantly  and 
as  if  to  come  to  the  rescue,  for  she  was  any- 

187 


RECORD  NO.  33 


thing  but  comfortable  and  he  seemed  to  know  it. 
She  felt  a  sudden  pang  as  if  a  knife  had  been  thrust 
into  her  breast.  For  the  first  time  she  began  to 
understand  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way  that  maybe  some 
one  of  the  people,  or  perhaps  all  of  them,  in  that 
office  that  morning  had  really  believed  she  did  have 
that  record.  Could  it  be  that  even  now  they  still 
believed  it?  In  an  instant  the  glamour,  the  pleasure 
of  it  all  fell  away — she  was  miserable,  utterly 
wretched.  She  wished  with  all  the  strength  of  her 
being  that  she  was  back  again  in  Kentucky — out  of 
it  all.  She  felt  the  color  leave  her  face,  a  chilly 
sensation  crept  over  her.  She  tried  to  pretend  to  be 
eating,  but  over  the  music  and  the  laughter  and  the 
talking  she  heard  Miss  Warren's  voice. 

"Every  time  I  look  at  her,"  she  was  saying,  "I 
have  to  laugh  at  the  very  thought  of  her  being  in 
New  York  for  the  purpose  of  organizing  a  stock 
company  with  millions  of  dollars  of  capital  for  the 
purpose  of  putting  Mr.  Chalmers  out  of  business — it 
is  such  a  scream !"  and  she  grew  hysterical  again. 

"Well,  certainly  no  one  suspects  Miss  Trent  of  so 
deep  a  plot,"  said  the  Professor  reassuringly. 

"Maybe  someone  does  and  maybe  someone 
doesn't,"  returned  Miss  Warren  meaningly.  "You 
never  can  tell.  You  know  how  very  suspicious  Mr. 
Chalmers  is."  Some  sort  of  a  light  seemed  to  be 

188 


MISS  WARREN'S  CARBON  COPY 

breaking  over  the  Professor,  for  his  face  was  losing 
its  questioning  and  showed  sympathy  and  concern. 

Seeing  that  Amelie  was  embarrassed  over  the 
situation,  which  she  did  not  understand,  and  that  she 
had  grown  weary  of  the  silly  conversation  of  Miss 
Warren  and  Carter  Raines,  the  Professor  kindly 
turned  the  conversation  and  talked  to  her  of  Louis- 
iana and  of  his  short,  happy  life  down  there;  of  the 
war  and  of  his  recent  experiences  in  England. 

At  last  the  dinner  was  over.  A  very  strange  and 
a  very  eventful  one  it  had  been  for  every  member 
of  the  company. 

Carter  made  quite  an  exhibit  of  his  money,  which 
he  dealt  out  with  careless  generosity.  This  part  of 
the  proceedings  still  concerned  and  worried  the  Pro- 
fessor, and  he  felt  embarrassed  and  unnatural.  This 
thing  of  being  the  guest  at  a  dinner  party  of  the  of- 
fice-boy was  no  ordinary  experience  for  him.  In  the 
office  he  had  pleasant  speaking  acquaintance  with 
Carter  and  with  Miss  Warren,  only  passing  occa- 
sional words  with  them,  and  certainly  never  meeting 
them  socially. 

To-night  he  knew  that  nothing  could  have  enticed 
him — nothing  either  of  them  could  have  said  or 
done — but  there  were  unusual  things  going  on. 
There  was  a  mystery  and  there  was  a  soft-voiced, 
sweet-faced  little  woman  from  the  far-away  South, 

189 


RECORD  NO.  33 


who  was  in  it  all  in  some  unaccountable  way.  It  was 
the  mystery  and  the  fair  face  and  some  other  things 
that  had  lured  him  on  to-night  to  join  in  where  he 
had  no  place  and  where  he  felt  that  he  did  not  be- 
long. 

At  the  door  it  was  Carter's  turn  to  be  embar- 
rassed. So  far  he  had  lorded  it  well,  and  had  come 
through  with  flying  colors. 

"Your  number,  sir,"  requested  the  doorman.  Car- 
ter fumbled  in  his  pocket  for  the  check.  It  was  not 
there.  Miss  Warren  could  not  enlighten  him. 
He  tried  in  vain  to  identify  the  car  and  to  remember 
what  the  chauffeur  looked  like,  while  he  furnished 
amusement  for  the  doorman  and  one  or  two  of  his 
co-workers. 

"I  told  him  to  be  here  at  nine  o'clock,"  he  said, 
scanning  the  row  of  cars  drawn  up  along  the  side- 
walk and  growing  more  embarrassed. 

"Where  do  you  go,  Miss  Trent?"  asked  the  Pro- 
fessor courteously. 

And  when  she  named  her  hotel,  he  smiled. 

"Why,  that  is  only  a  very  short  distance  from 
here,"  he  said.  "You  would  hardly  need  the  car." 
And  then  to  Carter  he  said,  "Never  mind  about  the 
car.  I  will  see  that  Miss  Trent  gets  to  her  hotel 
safely  and  I  am  sure  that  you  will  see  Miss  Warren 
home." 

190 


MISS  WARREN'S  CARBON  COPY 

Carter  was  relieved,  and  after  a  whispered  con- 
versation with  Miss  Warren,  he  thanked  the  Pro- 
fessor and  accepted  his  suggestion. 

"I'll  wait  for  the  car,"  said  Miss  Warren.  "I 
want  to  get  all  that  is  coming  to  me,  anfpl  expect  to 
ride  home  in  that  car,  if  I  have  to  wait  until  mid- 
night." 

"Now,  don't  forget,  Miss  Trent,  this  program  is 
to  be  repeated  to-morrow.  That  is,  unless  we  can 
think  of  something  nicer.  We  will  go  to  the  Ritz 
to-morrow  night.  Of  course,  Professor  Marville 
must  go,  too.  You  said  you  would  be  in  the  office 
to-morrow,  Professor,  and  so  we  will  see  you." 

The  Professor  expressed  his  thanks  and  his  appre- 
ciation, carefully  addressing  Carter  as  Mr.  Raines, 
to  assist  him  in  carrying  out  his  part  of  the  play. 
Good-nights  were  said  and  he  went  with  Amelie 
toward  her  hotel. 

Finding  herself  alone  with  her  French  Professor, 
Amelie  felt  all  of  the  burdens,  the  worries,  the  per- 
plexities, the  mysteries  and  the  misunderstandings 
of  the  day  suddenly  melt  away,  and  she  was 
strangely,  deliciously  happy. 

They  walked  the  few  blocks  together,  and  talked 
of  the  South  and  especially  of  Louisiana.  And  with 
gentle  courtesy  and  expressions  of  real  pleasure  at 
having  met  her,  the  Professor  said  good-bye  to  her 

191 


RECORD  NO.  33 


as  she  stepped  into  the  elevator  to  go  to  her  room. 

For  some  time  the  currents  of  their  lives  had  been 
flowing  toward  each  other  and  near  together,  and 
so,  no  wonder  that  when  they  met  there  was  no  dash- 
ing spray,  no  tumultuous  waves.  Things  seemed  per- 
fectly natural  between  them,  and  neither  tried  to 
analyze.  There  was  said  between  them  no  sugges- 
tion of  the  past,  no  promise  concerning  the  morrow, 
but  each  knew  that  this  was  but  the  beginning. 

And  still  when  she  reached  her  room  a  strange 
loneliness  began  to  steal  over  her.  A  load  was  in 
her  heart  and  she  was  weary,  all  tired  out.  She  felt 
as  if  she  had  suddenly  been  dropped  from  a  dizzy 
height,  and  she  was  dazed  and  sick. 

If  she  had  been  deliciously  happy  for  brief  mo- 
ments that  evening  when  she  was  looking  into  the 
Professor's  quiet  gray  eyes,  or  when  he  was  speaking 
directly  to  her  in  that  sympathetic  personal  way  he 
had,  at  the  end  he  had  seemed  exceedingly  formal, 
and  he  had  left  her  with  no  hint,  not  the  slightest 
suggestion  that  he  was  to  see  her  again,  or  that  he 
was  interested  beyond  the  curiosity  of  the  moment. 
She  had  now  a  sickening  sense  that  it  was  all  over, 
and  she  was  tempted  to  take  the  early  morning  train 
back  to  Merryville. 

The  room  was  hot  and  stuffy  and  she  could  not 
sleep.  She  wished  for  her  cool  little  pink-and-white 

192 


sitting-room  down  in  Merryville,  and  for  the  Pro- 
fessor as  she  had  known  and  loved  him  in  his  box 
on  her  closet  shelf.  She  was  living  in  what  seemed 
to  her  a  mad  whirl.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  looking 
at  her  life  through  a  sort  of  kaleidoscope  while  with 
breathless  interest  she  was  watching  the  multicolored 
pieces  fall  together  and  fit  themselves  into  a  won- 
drous design  which  she  had  accepted,  never  question- 
ing the  designer. 

To-night  she  would  have  given  much  if  she  could 
have  turned  the  tide  backward — just  a  short  time — 
just  to  the  time  when  she  had  sent  for  Mr.  Cart- 
wright  and  had  borrowed  the  five  hundred  dollars. 
She  wished  she  had  never  strolled  through  those 
stores  on  Broadway,  for  never  again  could  the  pic- 
tures in  the  big  catalog  that  came  every  year  in 
Merryville  hold  for  her  the  same  interest. 

She  wished  she  had  never  seen  the  Professor,  for 
now  that  she  had  seen  him  and  heard  his  deep,  beau- 
tiful voice,  and  looked  into  his  sympathetic  eyes,  she 
could  never  be  satisfied  with  the  poor,  meaningless, 
mechanical  sentences  that  had  meant  so  much  when 
she  kept  the  little  box  on  the  closet  shelf.  Oh,  if  she 
could  just  go  back ! 

She  looked  at  the  box  and  laughed  outright  to 
think  that  she  could  ever  have  been  so  foolish  as  to 
love  the  voice  it  contained.  She  realized  with  cruel 

193 


RECORD  NO.  33 


force  to-night  that  the  longing  that  had  been  gnaw- 
ing at  her  heart  all  this  time  was  not  for  an  impris- 
oned voice  and  a  dream  lover,  but  for  human  sym- 
pathy and  human  love. 

Down  in  the  street  somewhere  she  heard  the 
twang  of  a  piano,  and  then  the  voices  of  children 
floated  up  to  her.  There  came  to  her  a  memory  of 
Jeanne,  as  she  looked  that  night  the  box  had  ar- 
rived, Jeanne  with  the  raindrops  glistening  on  her 
curls  and  the  love  light  in  her  purple  eyes ! 

And  that  memory  stirred  another — her  Bible — she 
had  not  read  it  since  she  had  left  Merryville. 
Quickly  she  went  to  her  trunk,  took  it  out  and 
found  the  little  marker  that  told  where  she  had  last 
read.  Her  eyes  followed  the  words,  but  neither  her 
heart  nor  her  brain  responded.  Down  in  Merryville 
she  had  read  a  whole  chapter  attentively  every  night. 
But  to-night  she  could  not.  Persistently  the  room 
with  its  gaudy  paper  faded  away  and  in  its  place 
came  a  picture  of  the  little  sitting-room  with  its  sim- 
plicity and  its  dearly  loved  objects — the  old  portrait 
of  her  mother  above  the  mantel  and  the  stiff  and 
dutiful  little  brass  candlesticks  that  she  knew  were 
watching  on,  although  their  charge  had  fled.  And 
then  a  thought  of  dear  old  Aunt  Narcisse  and  her 
homely  philosophy.  And  somehow  in  her  medita- 
tions there  came  the  thought  of  Brother  Nelson, 

194 


kneeling  there  in  the  dear  little  room  that  lovely 
Spring  afternoon,  and  of  his  prayer.  How  earnestly 
he  had  prayed  that  she  might  be  led  to  walk  the 
"straight  and  narrow  way." 

So  long  as  she  did  not  have  time  to  think,  her  pres- 
ent world  was  alluring  in  its  charms,  but  now  that  she 
was  alone  after  the  most  exciting  day  of  her  life 
she  felt  something  slipping  steadily  and  surely  away 
from  her,  something  that  she  might  never  know  and 
feel  again — her  faith,  her  dreams,  her  illusions. 

Over  and  over  again,  as  she  thought  it  all  out 
that  lonely  night  in  her  cheerless  room  in  New  York, 
she  tried  to  convince  herself  that  she  had  dreamed 
her  beautiful  dream,  and  that  she  had  lived  it,  and 
that,  having  dreamed  it  and  lived  it,  she  should  be 
satisfied.  That  she  had  never  tried  to  see  the  end  of 
it,  she  knew.  And  now  that  she  felt  that  the  end 
was  here,  she  should  not  complain,  for  certainly  she 
had  not  expected  half  of  the  pleasure  she  had  al- 
ready experienced.  Her  reason  told  her  that  she 
should  be  satisfied.  She  had  come  in  quest  of  her 
Professor,  and  she  had  found  him,  more  delightfully 
real  than  she  had  ever  dared  to  dream. 

He  had  talked  to  her;  she  had  heard  his  voice  and 
listened  to  it,  not  from  the  little  box,  but  from  the 
Professor  in  the  flesh.  And  he  had  looked  at  her 
with  his  quiet,  deep,  gray  eyes,  and  had  said  ever  so 

195 


RECORD  NO.  33 


many  more  beautiful  things  than  he  had  ever  said 
in  the  machine.  Besides,  had  he  not  said  them  di- 
rectly to  her,  had  he  not  hinted  to  her  in  their  short 
snatches  of  conversation  something  of  his  likes  and 
his  dislikes,  of  his  hopes  and  aspirations?  And  his 
room,  had  she  not  stood  there  where  so  often  he 
must  have  been  while  she  was  dreaming  of  him  down 
in  Kentucky? 

She  had  not  expected  to  stay  in  New  York,  she  did 
not  want  to  stay.  She  had  come  and  seen  her  dream 
come  true,  and  why  could  not  her  spirit  be  quiet,  and 
why  could  not  she  bridle  it  with  reason?  It  was 
time  for  her  to  go.  She  did  not  even  want  to  go  to 
Louisiana  now,  but  she  wanted  to  go  back  to  Merry- 
ville,  back  to  the  "straight  and  narrow  way"  of  her 
life  in  that  place  she  called  home.  No  one  cared  in 
New  York  whether  she  stayed  or  went,  and  she 
knew  that  Jeanne  and  the  flowers  and  Bluebell  were 
missing  her  and  wanting  her  at  home. 

Yes,  it  was  true  there  were  all  those  things  on 
that  side.  But  there  was  something  speaking  within 
her  being  that  was  deeper  than  reason,  deeper  than 
wisdom,  deeper  than  will.  She  didn't  know  what  it 
was,  she  had  never  felt  it  before.  She  didn't  ana- 
lyze it  now  and  she  didn't  ask  herself  what  it  was. 
She  only  felt  that  it  was  all  over — that  the  dream 
was  past  and  that  she  was  wide  awake.  That  dear 

196 


MISS  WARREN'S  CARBON  COPY 

evening  just  closing,  that,  too,  was  now  over,  was 
but  a  memory.  She  craved  something  more  living, 
more  vital  than  memories.  They  did  not  satisfy 
her  any  more. 

That  night  she  was  restless,  and  for  hours  she 
lay  there  and  thought  of  all  the  miraculous  happen- 
ings of  the  day.  And  more  than  once  before  she 
finally  fell  asleep  she  thought  of  a  kind,  black  face, 
and  words  that  she  could  fully  understand  now — 
"It'd  be  pow'ful  onsatisfact'ry  to  most  women  ter  be 
er  lovin'  er  man  they  can't  see  nor  tech,  en  one  that 
can't  see  ner  tech  them." 


CHAPTER  XIV 


NEXT  morning  Amelia  awoke  feeling  weary, 
unsatisfied,  confused.  Snatches  of  the  con- 
versation of  the  previous  evening  kept  com- 
ing back  to  her  and  making  her  feel  as  if  she  were 
the  subject  of  ridicule,  she  knew  neither  how  nor 
why.  She  was  homesick  and  regretful,  and  she  was 
quite  sure  that  Professor  Marville  must  think  her 
silly  and  stupid.  She  was  startled,  almost  frightened, 
when  she  recalled  the  suggestion  that  had  been  made 
more  than  once  on  the  previous  evening  that  she 
really  did  have  the  missing  record.  As  if  she  could 
be  so  deceptive  and  dishonest?  And  yet,  who  was 
there  among  these  people  who  knew  her?  And 
would  it  be  strange  if  they  did  suspect  her?  Did 
not  her  own  neighbors  down  in  Merryville  say 
things  about  her,  and  did  they  not  continually  mis- 
understand her?  But  if  she  had  had  that  missing 
record  why  did  they  think  she  would  wish  to  keep 
something  that  could  not  possibly  be  of  any  use  to 
her;  what  would  keep  her  from  claiming:  the  reward? 

198 


MISS  INNOCENCE 


Then  she  remembered  that  someone  had  said  some- 
thing about  Mr.  Chalmers  being  so  afraid  of  her 
selling  the  record  and  letting  others  reap  the  benefit 
of  his  secret.  This  aroused  her  sense  of  humor  and 
her  own  absolute  innocence  and  her  realization  of 
her  incapacity  for  such  subtleties,  immediately  dis- 
pelled such  disquieting  thoughts.  She  simply  could 
not  conceive  that  such  a  thing  would  be  seriously 
suspected  of  her  and  she  tried  to  lift  her  thought 
away  from  the  unpleasant  suggestion. 

Then  the  mail  was  brought  up  to  her  and  she  took 
the  little  pile  of  letters  eagerly.  There  was  a  card 
telling  her  of  the  safe  arrival  in  New  Orleans  of 
Aunt  Narcisse  with  a  loving  message  from  her  old 
friend  written  by  the  hand  of  some  of  her  "white 
folks."  There  was  a  pretty  little  letter  from 
Jeanne  saying  how  much  they  missed  her  and  how 
they  were  wishing  for  the  time  for  her  to  return. 
The  goldenrod  and  the  black-eyed  Susans  were  in 
their  fullest  glory  in  the  fields  and  along  the  fences, 
she  wrote,  and  the  cosmos  and  the  dahlias  were  all 
blooming  in  her  own  dear  little  cathedral  garden. 
How  sweet  the  picture  was  and  how  homesick  it 
made  herl 

And  there  was  the  belated  letter  from  Mr.  Law- 
rence announcing  that  a  reward  of  five  thousand  dol- 
lars would  be  given  to  the  person  furnishing  inf orma- 

199 


'RECORD  NO.  33 


tion  that  would  lead  to  the  return  of  that  missing  rec- 
ord. It  seemed  so  mysterious  and  suggestive  of  de- 
tectives and  dark  secrets.  She  wondered  if  she 
would  even  have  started  on  her  strange  journey  if 
she  had  received  that  letter  before  she  left  Merry- 
ville;  if  its  air  of  darkness  and  mystery  would  not 
have  frightened  her  then  as  it  positively  appalled  her 
now. 

And  here  was  another  letter,  and  still  another, 
bearing  the  familiar  Merryville  postmark,  though 
the  handwriting  on  both  was  unknown  to  her.  The 
first  was  from  Miss  Maggie  Holt,  who  rented  the 
old  Trent  home  and  took  boarders  and  who  was 
noted  for  looking  "young  f°r  ner  years."  Accord- 
ing to  popular  saying,  Miss  Maggie  had  looked  just 
as  she  looked  now  as  far  back  as  the  oldest  inhabi- 
tants could  remember.  Many  and  many  a  discus- 
sion Amelie  had  heard  as  to  whether  or  not  she  wore 
a  wig.  This  letter  was  to  settle  the  doubt  forever 
in  her  own  mind  at  least.  Amelie  read  it  with 
amused  interest.  After  binding  her  to  the  strictest 
secrecy  Miss  Maggie  confided  to  her  the  fact  that 
her  "transformation" — ("some  people  call  them 
wigs,"  she  wrote,  "but  I  never  liked  the  word — I 
always  think  of  mine  as  a  transformation  and  I 
never  call  it  at  all,  for  you  know,  dear  Miss  Amelie, 
that  not  a  soul  in  Merryville  suspects  that  it  is  not 

200 


MISS  INNOCENCE 


all  my  own  hair") — had  faded  in  streaks,  and 
while  it  was,  as  she  knew,  impossible  for  hair  to 
turn  gray  after  "it  was  cut  from  the  human  head," 
still  her  "transformation"  was  actually  gray  in 
streaks.  She  told  how  it  was  guaranteed  to  be  real 
human  hair  and  what  price  she  paid  for  it  ten  years 
ago.  She  decided  it  must  have  been  gray  hair  dyed 
brown  and  now  the  brown  was  wearing  off.  Miss 
Maggie  was  noted  for  something  else  besides  looking 
youthful;  she  practiced  the  strictest  economy  and 
most  people  even  referred  to  this  characteristic  in 
much  stronger  terms.  So  Amelie  was  not  surprised, 
though  she  laughed  heartily  when  she  read,  "Now  I 
don't  want  to  pay  to  have  the  whole  thing  dyed, 
when  it  only  needs  dyeing  in  streaks."  So  there  was 
a  new  and  troublesome  commission,  and  Amelie  was 
to  let  her  know  immediately  the  price,  length  of  time 
required,  etc.,  for  Miss  Maggie  was  to  have  a  "spell 
of  neuralgia"  and  stay  in  a  darkened  room  with  her 
head  tied  up  until  the  "transformation"  should  be 
transformed. 

The  other  letter  was  from  Mrs.  Adams  who  in- 
closed some  samples  which  she  wanted  matched  for 
making  over  Sarah  Adams'  last  Fall  dress. 

After  all,  how  pleasant  and  simple  this  life  down 
in  Kentucky  seemed!  How  much  easier  life  was 
there  than  it  was  here!  No  wonder  Miss  Maggie 

201 


RECORD  NO.  33 


could  look  "young  for  her  years"  with  no  greater 
secret,  nothing  more  troublesome  to  think  of  than 
her  "transformation."  Amelie  was  thinking,  as  she 
brushed  out  her  long  brown  hair,  of  the  people  she 
had  met  in  New  York,  of  the  complicated  existence 
they  led,  and  she  doubted  if  anything  could  interest 
and  thrill  them  half  so  much  as  her  neighbors  on 
the  hill  in  Merryville  were  thrilled  over  a  single 
order  from  the  big  mail  order  catalog  each  year. 
Fall  was  approaching  now  and  she  recalled  the  ex- 
citement and  interest  attendant  on  making  the  order, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  joyous  day  on  which  the  big 
box  arrived. 

After  breakfast  she  walked  up  Broadway,  aim- 
less and  uncertain.  Newsies  were  crying  their 
papers,  flower-venders  tried  to  tempt  her  with  their 
fragrant  blossoms,  the  noise  of  traffic  deafened  her, 
and  she  felt  suddenly  a  deep  sense  of  loneliness  in 
the  midst  of  the  great  crowd. 

She  had  a  half-defined  longing  to  go  into  Thirty- 
fifth  Street  again,  to  see  the  home  where  she  knew 
he  lived.  But  things  seemed  quite  different  with  her 
to-day.  Yesterday  she  was  filled  with  a  wild  desire 
to  see  him;  now  she  feared  she  would  and  this  fear 
almost  held  her  back.  Before  she  scarcely  realized 
where  she  was  she  found  herself  in  Thirty-fourth 
Street  near  the  entrance  of  the  big  building  on  the 

202 


MISS  INNOCENCE 


tenth  floor  of  which  she  had  had  the  awful  experi- 
ences of  the  day  before.  And  almost  simultaneously 
with  this  realization  the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice 
fell  on  her  ears. 

"Why,  good  morning,  Miss  Trent.  Miss  Warren 
was  just  trying  to  get  you  by  'phone,"  and  she  looked 
up  in  a  half-startled  way  into  the  smiling  face  of 
Carter  Raines.  The  best  friend  she  had  in  Merry- 
ville  could  not  have  greeted  her  more  cordially  nor 
seemed  more  friendly.  He  wore  nothing  of  the  air 
and  manner  with  which  he  was  clothed  when  she  had 
seen  him  first. 

"I  was  just  going  out  to  get  some  matinee  tickets," 
he  said,  proudly  displaying  a  bill.  "Miss  Warren 
wanted  to  know  what  you'd  rather  see,  but  as  she 
couldn't  get  you,  I  was  just  going  to  take  a  chance." 

Amelie  wished  to  decline,  to  extricate  herself  from 
the  network  of  circumstances  in  which  she  was  en- 
tangled, but  she  had  not  the  slightest  idea  how  to 
do  so.  She  could  not  plead  engagements,  for  she 
had  already  said  that  she  had  no  friends  in  New 
York,  besides,  she  knew  only  how  to  be  truthful  and 
she  could  think  of  no  excuse  to  offer.  Carter  in- 
sisted that  she  go  up  and  talk  it  over  with  Miss 
Warren,  and  seeming  unable  to  resist,  she  reluc- 
tantly followed  him  back  into  that  hateful  office 

which  she  had  hoped  never  to  enter  again. 

203 


'RECORD  NO.  33 


She  was  a  trifle  surprised  and  distinctly  pleased 
to  be  greeted  so  cordially  and  so  pleasantly  by  Miss 
Warren,  and  even  Mr.  Lawrence  seemed  actually 
glad  to  see  her.  And  while  she  chatted  with  them 
she  felt  no  surprise  whatever  to  see  Professor  Mar- 
ville  come  in.  She  couldn't  have  told  just  why,  but 
it  seemed  only  the  natural  and  expected  thing  for 
her  to  see  him  there  and  then.  He,  too,  was  pleas- 
ant but  quite  as  reserved  as  he  had  been  when  he 
had  left  her  the  night  before.  He  did  not  seem  in- 
clined to  join  in  the  conversation,  but  was  preoccu- 
pied and  silent.  Miss  Warren,  now  feeling  perfectly 
at  ease  conversing  with  him,  although  she  had  never 
had  a  single  long  conversation  with  him  until  the 
evening  before,  turned  to  him  familiarly. 

"Help  us  out,  Professor,"  she  pleaded.  "Miss 
Trent  and  I  are  going  to  the  matinee  and  we  can't 
decide  what  to  see."  Then  she  mentioned  a  number 
of  things,  among  which  poor  little  Amelie  had  con- 
fessed an  inability  to  decide. 

The  Professor  looked  at  her,  and  she  saw  a 
wholly  different  light  come  into  his  face.  Why  had 
he  always  seemed  so  kind,  so  ready  to  rescue  and  to 
help  her?  Just  that  melting,  sympathetic  expression 
in  his  eyes  soothed  her. 

"Why  not  see  the  revival  of  'Rosemary,'  "  he 
suggested.  "It  is  sweet  and  full  of  sentiment  and 

204 


MISS  INNOCENCE 


romance.  I  think  Miss  Trent  would  like  it."  And 
all  during  the  afternoon  as  she  sat  there  and  en- 
joyed the  play,  far  more  than  they,  who  had  so 
much  to  see,  could  comprehend,  she  thought  only 
of  him,  of  his  voice,  and  the  soft,  friendly  look  in  his 
quiet  eyes. 

According  to  appointment,  that  afternoon  after 
Miss  Warren  and  Amelie  had  gone,  there  was  a 
conference  in  Mr.  Lawrence's  office,  and  Professor 
Marville  was  made  acquainted  with  the  whole  situ- 
ation by  Mr.  Lawrence  and  Mr.  Chalmers.  The 
Professor  had  heard  the  story  with  the  deepest  in- 
terest and  the  closest  attention,  asking  questions  now 
and  then  to  clear  up  points  he  did  not  understand. 

"Now  give  us  your  candid  opinion,  Professor. 
Don't  you  believe,  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt, 
that  Miss  Trent  has  that  record?"  Mr.  Chalmers 
asked  this  question  and  both  men  searched  the  face 
of  the  Professor  for  the  answer.  He  hesitated  only 
a  moment.  "No,  I  do  not  think  she  has,"  he  said, 
firmly.  "I  think  you  are  on  the  wrong  track,  and 
that  you  are  wasting  time."  Mr.  Chalmers  looked 
disappointed,  disgusted. 

"What  grounds  have  you  got — that's  what  I  ask 
you — what  grounds  have  you  got  for  that  opinion? 
Great  Scott,  man,  look  at  the  evidence  1 

"The  record  was  made — Channing  is  sure  of  that. 
205 


RECORD  NO.  33 


He  gave  it  to  me — so  he  thought.  I  put  it  in  my 
safe — so  I  thought.  Three  months  later  I  discov- 
ered he  had  given  me  another  record — Record  No. 
33  for  the  French  language — and  I  had  put  that 
record  in  my  safe.  Now  the  natural  conclusion  is 
that  the  records  were  substituted  for  each  other. 
Why?  Because  if  there  had  been  no  Record  No. 
33  with  one  of  those  French  machines,  don't  you 
know  a  complaint  to  that  effect  would  have  come  in? 
But  there  was  no  complaint.  Of  all  the  machines 
with  their  records  that  were  shipped  out  that  month, 
there  was  not  one  complaint — not  one  record  miss- 
ing. So  the  supposition,  the  natural  conclusion,  is 
that  the  correct  number  of  records  went  out, 
and  that  in  the  place  of  the  record  which  I  had  in 
my  safe,  and  which  should  have  gone  out  with 
one  of  those  machines,  that  record  holding  Chan- 
ning's  secret  was  sent  out.  That  much  seems  rea- 
sonably clear.  I  think  you'll  admit  that.  Very 
well.  Who  got  the  secret  record?  That's  the  ques- 
tion. Who  among  the  one  hundred  and  seventeen 
people  who  ordered  and  received  machines  about 
this  time  got  the  record  that  was  supposed  to  be  in 
my  safe?  First,  Lawrence  writes  and  asks  every 
one  of  these  one  hundred  and  seventeen  persons  to 
return  Record  No.  33.  Only  one  out  of  this  entire 
number  fails  to  do  so.  The  returned  records  are 

206 


MISS  INNOCENCE 


all  right — are  just  as  they  should  be.  But  this  one 
who  does  not  comply  with  this  request — what  of 
that  one?" 

Mr.  Chalmers,  quite  excited  over  his  own  recital, 
drew  his  chair  very  close  to  the  Professor  and  low- 
ered his  voice.  The  Professor  was  giving  the  closest 
attention,  as  was  Mr.  Lawrence,  who  was  occasion- 
ally called  upon  by  Mr.  Chalmers  to  verify  state- 
ments. The  Professor  was  silent,  Chalmers  went 
on. 

"That  one,  Professor,  was  none  other  than  Miss 
Trent.  And  what  did  she  do?  Lawrence,  read  her 
letter."  Mr.  Chalmers  turned  sidewise  in  his  chair, 
crossed  his  fat  legs,  rammed  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  looked  as  if  the  whole  thing  were  settled.  Mr. 
Lawrence  went  to  his  files,  brought  out  Amelie's  first 
letter  and  handed  it  to  the  Professor  who  read  and 
reread  it  carefully.  He  kept  it  in  his  hand. 

"Go  on,"  he  said  quietly.  "What  happened 
next?"  and  again  and  again  he  looked  at  the  neat 
little  note  written  by  Amelie's  hand  back  in  Merry- 
ville  weeks  before. 

"Did  you  notice  the  wording  of  that  letter?" 
Chalmers  asked  significantly.  "Do  you  see  she  says 
there  the  record  is  'perfectly  satisfactory — in  fact,  it 
is  the  clearest,  best  record  I  have'?  Does  she  say 
the  record  corresponds  with  Lesson  No.  33  in  the 

207 


RECORD  NO.  33 


manual?  I  should  say  not.  She  only  says  it  is  'sat- 
isfactory,' that  'it  is  the  clearest  and  best  record'  she 
has.  Certainly  it  is  'satisfactory,'  since  it  contains 
a  secret  worth  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars! 
Certainly  it  is  the  'clearest  and  best'  since  it  is  made 
by  Channing's  new  process." 

The  Professor  held  the  dainty  and  innocent-look- 
ing little  note  nearer  to  his  eyes,  and  read  it  again. 
The  suggestion  of  a  shadow  followed  by  a  slight, 
questioning  frown  came  into  his  face.  Chalmers 
saw  that  he  was  impressed,  and  so  he  dwelt  on  this 
point  a  little  further. 

"Look  at  that  letter,"  he  said,  shaking  his  finger 
threateningly  at  Amelie's  poor  little  note.  "Read  it 
and  tell  me  if  it  was  written  by  a  guileless  hand,  or 
dictated  by  an  innocent  mind.  Is  there  one  super- 
fluous word?  Is  there  one  thing  omitted  that  could 
have  been  added?  Isn't  it  letter-perfect  from  the 
standpoint  of  one  who  has  got  in  her  possession  a 
valuable  secret?" 

The  Professor  was  still  contemplating  the  letter. 

"Well,  go  on,"  he  said,  finally.  "What  happened 
next?" 

"What  happened  next?"  repeated  Chalmers. 
"What  happened  next?  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  We  de- 
cided on  another  plan.  We  offered  a  reward — a 
reward  of  five  thousand  dollars  for  any  information 

208 


MISS  INNOCENCE 


leading  to  the  recovery  of  that  record.  We  were 
supposed  to  send  that  letter  out  to  all  of  the  one 
hundred  and  seventeen  persons  as  well  as  to  the  em- 
ployers of  both  Lawrence's  establishment  and  mine. 
But  we  didn't  do  it.  We  saw  no  reason  to  excite 
the  further  curiosity  of  the  one  hundred  and  sixteen 
persons  who  were  honest  enough" — the  Professor 
winced,  and  noticing  this,  Chalmers  paused  and  re- 
peated his  words — "who  were  honest  enough,  I  say, 
to  return  Record  No.  33,  as  we  requested.  We  sent 
it  only  to  the  one  who  wrote  this  evasive  letter. 
Now,  it  stands  to  reason  that  this  reward  of  five 
thousand  dollars  would  have  tempted  anyone  in 
either  of  our  shops  to  cough  up — you  know  the  aver- 
age of  salaries  here.  But  no  one  chirped.  Now, 
listen  to  this.  That  letter  to  Miss  Trent,  the  letter 
in  which  the  reward  was  offered  was  mailed  in  New 
York  on  Wednesday.  On  investigation  we  find  that 
it  should  have  reached  Merryville,  Kentucky,  the 
metropolis  where  your  Miss  Innocence  lives,  on  the 
following  Saturday.  If  a  letter  had  been  mailed 
from  there  next  day,  Sunday  or  say  Monday,  it 
would  have  reached  New  York  Thursday.  Now 
bear  these  facts  in  mind.  Did  any  letter  come  from 
what's-the-name-of-the-place  on  that  Thursday? 
No !  But  what  was  far  more  significant — and  I 
think  you  will  admit  this,  Professor — is  that  on  that 

209 


RECORD  NO.  33 


very  day — the  very  day  mind  you — little  Miss  Inno- 
cence herself  appears  on  the  scene!" 

"But,  if  she  did  have  the  record,  why  should  she 
conceal  it?  Why  did  she  not  claim  the  reward?" 
asked  the  Professor  seriously. 

"Oh,  why,  indeed,"  echoed  Mr.  Lawrence. 
"That's  just  it." 

"That's  just  it,"  whispered  Mr.  Chalmers 
hoarsely.  "Why  didn't  she?  That,  Professor,  is 
just  the  point.  Now,  we  are  all  satisfied  that  she 
has  the  record.  What  we  now  want  to  find  out  is, 
what  is  she  going  to  do  with  it?" 

Here  Mr.  Lawrence  took  up  the  narrative,  ex- 
plaining how  and  why  they  conceived  the  idea  of  hav- 
ing Miss  Warren  entertain  and  flatter  Miss  Trent 
with  the  view  of  ascertaining  her  secret. 

The  Professor  said  but  little,  but  he  was  think- 
ing seriously  and  deeply.  "Little  Miss  Innocence !" 
This  name,  applied  by  Mr.  Chalmers  in  irony, 
pleased  him,  and  he  was  thinking  of  her  as  she  had 
appeared  to  him  each  time  he  had  seen  her.  Inno- 
cent indeed  she  was,  and  very  fair  and  sweet.  As 
Mr.  Chalmers  had  outlined  it,  the  evidence  against 
her  did  seem  almost  complete,  certainly  convincing. 
But  never  a  shade  of  doubt  of  her  motives  or  her 
acts  sunk  into  his  consciousness.  There  were,  in 
truth,  some  things  which  he  could  not  understand, 

210 


MISS  INNOCENCE 


but  he  assured  himself  that  she  could  explain  them 
if  the  opportunity  should  only  present  itself.  To 
him  she  was  in  reality  "Miss  Innocence"  and  "Miss 
Innocence"  she  should  remain. 

"We  are  very  anxious  for  your  opinion,  Pro- 
fessor," said  Mr.  Lawrence  after  all  three  men  had 
kept  silent  for  some  time. 

"I  repeat  that  I  think  Miss  Trent  is  wholly  inno- 
cent. If  she  did  have  the  record  she  would  have  re- 
turned it  and  claimed  the  reward,"  he  said.  "She  is 
not  the  type  of  woman  one  could  suspect  of  duplicity 
and  chicanery.  I  do  not  believe  it.  I  believe  every 
word  she  says."  He  held  in  his  hand  the  steno- 
graphic report  of  what  had  transpired  in  that  same 
room  the  day  before  and  he  repeatedly  looked  at  it, 
as  he  had  looked  at  Amelie's  little  note.  "Further- 
more," he  continued,  "I  think  you  gentlemen  are  very 
inconsistent.  If  Miss  Trent  is  so  cunning  and  astute 
as  you  think  her,  why  should  you  imagine  that  Miss 
Warren,  a  person  whom  she  knows  to  be  in  your 
employ,  could  induce  her  to  divulge  her  secret?" 

Both  men  looked  blank.  They  had  not  realized 
their  inconsistency  before.  Chalmers  was  doubtless 
thinking  of  the  money  he  had  turned  over  to  Miss 
Warren. 

"Has  Miss  Warren  made  any  headway  yet?" 
asked  the  Professor,  seeing  he  was  gaining  somewhat 

211 


RECORD  NO. 


in  his  position.  "Has  she  given  you  any  informa- 
tion that  would  strengthen  your  opinion  that  Miss 
Trent  has  the  record?" 

"Well,"  began  Mr.  Chalmers,  weakly  and  meekly, 
"she  has  hardly  had  time."  He  took  out  his  watch. 
"She  should  be  here  shortly.  We  told  her  to  re- 
port after  the  matinee.  I  think  she  is  planning  to 
take  your  Miss  Innocence  to  dinner  to-night." 

The  Professor  waited,  a  little  impatiently.  He 
couldn't  tell  just  why  he  felt  impelled  to  take  a  hand 
himself  in  this  strange  little  game,  but  he  had  de- 
cided to  stay  and  see  just  what  Miss  Warren  had  to 
say. 

In  a  short  time  she  came  in,  smiling  and  gay,  and 
he  was  struck  with  her  changed  manner.  She  was 
no  longer  the  submissive,  polite  stenographer,  but 
she  treated  the  three  men  with  the  most  careless 
familiarity.  Her  little  experiences  of  the  last  twen- 
ty-four hours  had  flattered  and  spoiled  her. 

It  was  quite  evident  that  both  Mr.  Chalmers  and 
Mr.  Lawrence  were  disappointed  that  she  had  noth- 
ing really  exciting  to  report.  Her  conversation  with 
Miss  Trent  had  led  to  absolutely  nothing  promising 
to  the  two  men. 

"She  was  so  enthralled  with  that  play,"  she  said 
contemptuously,  "I  just  couldn't  interest  her  in  any- 
thing. But,  I  am  just  as  sure  she  has  that  record  as 

212 


MISS  INNOCENCE 


I  am  sure  that  I  am  living,"  she  added,  with  a  view 
of  encouraging  Mr.  Chalmers. 

"And  the  Professor  is  equally  as  sure  that  she 
hasn't,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence. 

"How  could  you  doubt  it,  Professor?"  she  asked, 
turning  to  the  Professor  and  speaking  a  little  pet- 
tishly. He  did  not  wish  to  rehash  the  evidence  nor 
to  discuss  the  matter  with  her,  so  he  only  smiled  a 
little  and  said  nothing. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence.  A  little 
cloud  of  gloom  and  disappointment  seemed  to  be 
settling  over  the  group.  Mr.  Lawrence  broke  the 
stillness. 

"Let  me  make  a  suggestion,"  he  said,  and  then  he 
hesitated  as  if  almost  afraid  to  say  what  was  in  his 
mind.  "Professor,  suppose  you  take  your  little  Miss 
Innocence  to  dinner  to-night — then  tell  us  to-morrow 
what  you  think." 

"Yes,  do,"  put  in  Mr.  Chalmers,  quickly.  Miss 
Warren  was  a  little  chagrined  and  disappointed. 
She  was  beginning  to  realize  that  she  was  not  eligible 
for  the  Pinkerton  staff  after  all;  she  was  beginning 
to  see  that  she  had  failed,  that  her  fun  was  almost 
over. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  it,"  said  the  Professor 
nervously.  "Why,  she  wouldn't  go  with  me — she 
wouldn't  tell  me  anything  any  more  then  she  would 

213 


RECORD  NO.  33 


Miss  Warren.  She  would  think  me  impertinent,  dis- 
courteous, rude.  She  is  Southern,  you  know,  she 
looks  at  things  so  differently.  No,  I  really  couldn't." 

"Oh,  you  Southern  Innocence !"  laughed  Miss 
Warren  derisively,  for  she  had  recovered  herself 
now  and  was  determined  to  be  game. 

But  while  the  Professor  was  speaking  these  words 
he  was  thinking  and  feeling  along  another  line. 
Should  he  not  accept  Mr.  Lawrence's  suggestion? 

Was  it  not  his  duty  to  see  Miss  Trent,  to  make  her 
understand  the  position  in  which  she  had,  innocently 
as  he  believed,  placed  herself?  Could  he  stand  idly 
by  and  allow  this  detective  work  to  proceed,  just  to 
give  Miss  Warren  what  she  called  "a  good  time"? 
And  if  she  should  be  offended  at  his  seeming  pre- 
sumption, could  he  not  explain  to  her  that  his  only 
object  was  to  open  her  eyes? 

He  was  glad  when  all  three  insisted  and  after  a 
few  protests,  which  grew  gradually  milder,  he  con- 
sented. It  was  arranged  that  he  was  to  present  him- 
self at  Miss  Trent's  hotel  that  evening  at  seven 
o'clock  in  the  place  of  Miss  Warren,  who  was  to  go 
according  to  the  arrangement  made  with  Miss  Trent 
before  they  had  parted. 

Miss  Warren  was  disappointed  and  showed  a  lit- 
tle embarrassment.  She  opened  her  purse  and  took 
out  the  money  Mr.  Chalmers  had  given  her,  and  as 

214 


MISS  INNOCENCE 


she  began  to  report  on  her  expenditures  which  she 
said  she  would  write  down  next  day,  she  handed  the 
money  to  the  Professor.  He  held  it  in  his  hand  only 
long  enough  to  walk  over  and  lay  it  on  the  desk  in 
front  of  Mr.  Chalmers.  No  one  said  a  word.  And, 
smiling  a  good-evening,  he  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XV 


'MISS  INNOCENCE"  AND  THE  PROFESSOR 


MORE  than  once  Amelie  had  been  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  realization  that  her 
clothes  were  unlike  thpse   of  the   other 
women  whom  she  saw  in  New  York,  and  more  than 
once  she  had  resolved  to  take  a  plunge,  disregard 
Mr.  Cartwright's  policy  of  economy,  and  gratify  a 
strong  feminine  desire  to  shop  just  once  in  one  of 
those  splendid  stores. 

While  she  was  enjoying  the  play  that  afternoon 
she  fully  made  up  her  mind  to  do  this,  and  leaving 
Miss  Warren  at  the  corner  she  went  over  to  one 
of  the  Broadway  department  stores.  In  Louisville 
that  day  the  red  wings  had  seemed  very  lovely  in- 
deed, but  to-day  the  black  chip  hat  looked  dilapi- 
dated and  antiquated.  It  was  not  the  joyous  promise 
suggested  by  red  that  seemed  to  satisfy  her  now,  but 
she  rather  craved  the  soft,  quieting  tones  of  blue. 
So  she  bought  a  blue  suit,  which  was  extremely  be- 
coming, and  a  dark  blue  straw  hat  with  a  wreath  of 

216 


THE  PROFESSOR 


cornflowers  on  it.  Then  she  could  not  resist  a  dainty 
white  blouse  with  lace  about  the  neck  and  a  pair  of 
long  white  gloves  like  those  she  had  seen  Miss  War- 
ren wear. 

She  had  emerged  from  the  theater  in  quite  a  dif- 
ferent mood  from  that  which  had  depressed  her  dur- 
ing the  morning.  It  might  have  been  the  effect  of  the 
play;  it  might  have  been  her  pleasant  chat  with  the 
Professor  and  a  queer  feeling  that  the  dream  was 
not  ended,  that  she  had  not  waked  up  after  all;  or 
it  might  have  been  that  she  was  getting  vibrations 
down  in  the  depths  of  her  being  from  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  Professor,  although  she  was  still  quite 
ignorant  of  the  change  in  the  plans  for  the  evening. 

Even  the  cheerless  little  room  at  the  hotel  looked 
different.  When  before  she  had  felt  cramped,  cir- 
cumscribed, her  whole  being  now  seemed  able  to  ex- 
pand in  every  direction  and  there  appeared  to  be  no 
barrier  anywhere.  In  the  morning  she  had  wanted 
to  go  back  to  where  she  had  left  off.  She  had  been 
tired  of  spinning.  Now  she  wanted  to  go  on. 

As  she  dressed  she  thought  of  what  Carter  Raines 
had  said,  "But  while  I  was  flying,  I'd  fly."  So  she 
did  not  regret  the  expenditures  she  had  just  made  but 
simply  refused  to  think  of  Mr.  Cartwright  or  of  the 
rapidity  with  which  her  money  was  melting. 

She  was  not  worrying  her  brain  any  more  now  as 
217 


RECORD  NO.  33 


to  why  she  was  being  shown  so  much  attention,  and 
all  of  the  unpleasant  memories  of  that  last  strange 
day  were  fading.  She  only  knew  with  an  unaccount- 
able certainty  that  she  was  to  see  the  Professor 
again.  Was  it  something  in  his  look,  his  voice,  his 
eyes,  that  told  her  so?  Or  did  she  realize  it  in  some 
deeper,  surer  way? 

The  picture  that  smiled  back  at  her  from  the 
mirror  that  night  was  quite  unlike  that  she  was  ac- 
customed to  see  down  in  Merryville,  and  as  a  final 
touch  to  her  dress  she  took  from  a  box  in  her  trunk 
the  miniature  of  her  little  French  grandmother  and 
pinned  it  in  the  lace  at  her  throat. 

A  message  told  her  that  a  gentleman  was  waiting 
in  the  parlor  and  she  went  down  with  a  singing  in 
her  heart  and  the  conscious  expectation  of  seeing 
Carter  Raines. 

She  showed  childish  surprise  not  unmixed  with 
pleasure  when  she  found  herself  smiling  into  the  eyes 
of  the  Professor,  who  was  apologizing  and  explain- 
ing and  begging  her  not  to  think  him  presumptuous. 
Of  course,  she  could  not  tell  him  how  perfectly  natu- 
ral it  seemed  for  him  to  be  there  and  for  her  to  be 
with  him.  In  fact,  she  was  not  analyzing,  she  was 
only  feeling.  He  was  saying  that  he  had  come  in  the 
place  of  Miss  Warren,  to  fill  her  engagement,  and 
that  he  hoped  she  would  be  good  enough  to  waive 

218 


THE  PROFESSOR 


ceremony  and  go  with  him  to  dinner.  There  were 
some  things  he  wanted  to  explain  to  her — some 
things  she  did  not  understand.  There  certainly 
were  things  that  she  did  not  understand,  a  great 
many  of  them.  Was  he  going  to  explain  some  of 
them?  Then  came  a  thought  of  her  secret — her 
precious  record  that  no  one  knew  or  even  suspected 
she  had.  She  hugged  her  bag  a  little  just  to  make 
sure  that  she  had  not  forgotten  that  record  which 
she  always  carried. 

"So  you  will  go?"  he  said,  searching  the  sweet 
face  under  the  cornflowers. 

"If  you  wish  me  to,"  she  said,  simply  and  softly. 
"Yes." 

And  then  they  went  out  into  the  lighted  street. 
They  talked  naturally  and  gayly  of  the  matinee  and 
of  a  number  of  things.  Half  an  hour  later  they  were 
looking  across  a  little  table  at  each  other,  not  in 
the  Waldorf-Astoria,  but  in  a  delightful  little  cafe 
downtown  where  there  were  not  a  great  many  diners, 
where  the  lights  did  not  dazzle  but  were  softly 
shaded,  where  there  were  no  gorgeous  flowers,  only 
cool-looking  palms  and  ferns  that  quivered  and 
swayed  under  the  play  of  the  electric  fan,  with  its 
hypnotizing  buzzing.  Here  everything  seemed  more 
natural,  and  there  was  such  a  delicious  little  feel- 
ing of  warmth  and  sympathy  between  them  as  they 

219 


RECORD  NO.  33 


chatted.  It  seemed  to  both  of  them  strange,  very 
strange,  that  they  had  seen  each  other  for  the  first 
time  scarcely  twenty-four  hours  ago. 

"How  dear,"  she  said  looking  about  her  and 
smiling  at  him. 

"Do  you  like  it?"  he  said.  "It  isn't  the  Waldorf- 
Astoria,"  and  he  leaned  back  and  laughed  with  an 
abandon  that  she  had  not  seen  him  show  on  the 
previous  evening. 

"I'm  glad  it  isn't,"  she  hastened  to  say.  "The 
glittering  splendor  of  it  tires  my  spirit  and  my  senses 
and  my  nerves.  I  did  not  know  that  I  was  going 
there — I  was  really  there  before  I  knew  it." 

"I  was  never  so  puzzled~in  my  life,"  he  said  and 
there  was  a  confidential,  intimate  little  manner  be- 
tween them  now,  as  if  they  had  known  each  other 
always.  This  was  so  different  from  the  evening  be- 
fore— infinitely  more  delightful  to  them  both. 

"Yes,  you  did  look  puzzled,"  she  replied,  "but  I 
was  puzzled  too,  and  am  still.  I  am  depending  on 
you  for  some  enlightenment." 

"You  cannot  imagine  how  I  felt,"  he  said,  "to 
walk  into  the  Waldorf-Astoria  like  that  and  to  have 
Carter  Raines — Carter  Raines,  the  office  boy  at  the 
college,  step  up  to  me  and  ask  me  to  come  and  dine 
with  him!"  The  Professor  laughed  again  as  if  he 
really  enjoyed  it. 

220 


THE  PROFESSOR 


"I  made  several  excuses  and  don't  know  why  or 
how  I  finally  yielded  and  followed  the  boy  into  the 
dining-room.  Something  led  me  on,  I  don't  know 
whether  it  was  curiosity  or  not,  but  before  I  scarcely 
knew  it,  as  you  say,  I  was  there.  It  is  very  much 
less  difficult  for  me  to  explain  my  reasons  for  stay- 
ing, once  I  was  there,"  he  added  more  softly.  And 
he  looked  at  her  winsome  face  into  which  a  lovely 
light  was  stealing. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "that  was  easy.  That  was 
pure  and  undefiled  curiosity.  You  certainly  were 
very  deeply  and  intensely  interested." 

"I  was,"  he  said  simply  and  earnestly,  but  smil- 
ing at  her  little  finesse.  "Of  course,  I  was  interested 
to  hear  of  the  reward,  but  what  fascinated  and  in- 
terested me  most  at  first  was  the  mere  fact  that  Car- 
ter Raines,  an  office  boy,  working  for  seven  or  eight 
dollars  a  week,  and  a  stenographer,  making  not  more 
than  fifteen  a  week,  should  be  giving  a  dinner  party 
at  the  Waldorf-Astoria.  And  you — there  was  an- 
other mystery.  What  were  you  doing  there?  I 
couldn't  place  you,  I  couldn't  figure  out  how  you  got 
into  the  play.  Then  they  told  me  you  were  from 
my  dear  Louisiana  and  I  knew  when  I  looked  at  you 
that  you  were  not  feeling  just  right  about  it  all. 
Then  Carter  displayed  a  roll  of  money  under  the 
corner  of  the  table  and  I  must  confess  I  fell  to 

221 


RECORD  NO.  33 


thinking  and  wondering  and — well,  I  was  almost 
afraid  it  wasn't  his,  somehow.  He  is  so  young,  you 
know,  and  so  inexperienced.  But  he  and  Miss  War- 
ren kept  laughing  and  I  knew  it  must  be  a  huge  joke 
and  so  I  stayed — that  is,  after  you  asked  me  to.  I 
felt  that  somehow  you  needed  me — that  you  were 
not  being  treated  exactly  fairly  and  though  I  did  not 
want  to  stay,  I  could  not  go  after  you  asked  me  to 
stay.  Since  things  have  turned  out  as  they  have  I 
am  certainly  glad  I  did  stay." 

Amelie  was  relieved  that  there  was  no  confusion 
and  uncertainty  and  delay  about  giving  the  order  as 
there  had  been  on  the  previous  evening,  but  while 
the  Professor  was  consulting  her  helpfully  and  giv- 
ing instructions  to  the  waiter  she  had  time  to  think. 
She  was  a  little  embarrassed  and  afraid.  What  was 
it  he  had  to  tell  her,  to  explain?  If  he  wanted  an 
explanation  as  to  why  she  was  in  New  York,  as  it 
was  but  natural  he  should,  what  could  she  say?  She 
had  an  inclination  to  unburden  her  soul  to  him,  to 
beg  him  to  tell  her  all — why  they  had  suspected  her, 
why  Miss  Warren  and  Carter  Raines  had  showered 
her  with  attentions.  In  the  short  time  in  which  she 
waited  for  the  order  to  be  given  she  began  to  see  how 
artificial,  how  insincere  they  were.  She  began  to 
realize  how  very  silly  she  had  been  to  accept  their 
flattery,  and  she  was  consumed  with  curiosity,  al- 

222 


THE  PROFESSOR 


though  she  almost  feared  what  the  Professor  might 
have  to  tell  her.  Not  once  did  she  question  him  or 
his  motives.  Her  being  there  with  him  seemed  natu- 
ral and  right  and  she  felt  a  sense  of  dependence  and 
a  certainty  that  he  at  least  was  sincere. 

"The  whole  thing  is  evidently  a  chain  of  unusual 
circumstances  linked  together  in  a  strange,  almost 
an  unaccountable  way,"  he  said  musingly.  "Of 
course,  I  am  greatly  perplexed  myself  about  some  of 
these  events  and  how  they  managed  to  relate  them- 
selves to  each  other." 

"Well,  you  aren't  half  as  perplexed  as  I  am," 
she  said,  and  he  saw  a  troubled  look  come  over  her 
face.  "I  seem  to  have  plunged  into  a  mystery  which 
does  not  concern  me  and  in  which  I  am  not  inter- 
ested. Please  tell  me  how  to  get  out."  She  stretched 
her  hands  out  toward  him  pleadingly  in  a  pretty, 
Frenchy  little  gesture,  and  the  plaintiveness  in  her 
voice  and  the  half-laughing  appeal  in  her  lovely  face 
softened  and  delighted  him.  If  he  had  ever  held  in 
his  mind  any  slight  doubt  of  her  sincerity,  of  her 
right  to  be  called  "Miss  Innocence,"  that  doubt  was 
forever  dispelled  by  that  gesture,  that  look,  those 
appealing  words. 

He  hated  the  very  suggestion  that  he  had  come 
to  find  out  anything  she  did  not  wish  to  tell.  He  re- 
sented, whenever  he  thought  of  it,  the  intimation  in 

223 


RECORD  NO.  33 


Mr.  Lawrence's  office  that  afternoon  that  he  was 
acting  in  any  sense  as  a  representative  or  as  an  agent 
of  Mr.  Chalmers  or  of  any  other  person  connected 
with  the  mystery.  He  was  thoroughly  conscious  of 
his  motive,  his  intention,  which  was  to  protect  and  in- 
form her.  He  believed  in  her,  and  he  was  unwilling 
to  stand  by  and  see  her  made  the  subject  of  schemes 
and  jokes  and  investigations,  of  which  she  was  igno- 
rant, as  well  as  innocent.  He  had  noticed  her  dis- 
comfiture of  the  evening  before  when,  now  and  then, 
she  had  been  quizzed.  This  he  construed  only  as  re- 
sentment and  not  as  an  effort  to  withhold  informa- 
tion. He  was  resolute  in  his  determination  that  he 
would  not  even  seem  to  question  her.  He  would 
tell  her  what  he  wished  her  to  know,  but  he  would 
expect  of  her  only  what  she  should  choose  to  tell. 
And  still,  there  were  some  things  he  did  want  to 
know  after  all.  Surely  if  she  would  volunteer  some 
explanations  the  atmosphere  would  clear  very 
quickly.  He  knew  things  were  all  right,  but  he 
would  have  been  glad  if  she  could  have  reassured 
him. 

"Please  tell  me  how  to  get  out,"  this  appeal,  so 
prettily  made,  pleased  him,  but  for  a  moment  both 
were  dimly  conscious  that  he  could  tell  her  better  if 
she  were  to  tell  him  how  she  got  in. 

"After  Miss  Warren  showed  me  this  carbon,"  and 
224 


THE  PROFESSOR 


he  took  the  sheets  from  his  pocket,  spread  them  out 
so  that  she,  too,  could  see,  and  glanced  hastily  over 
them,  "I  halfway  guessed  the  truth." 

"The  truth,"  she  said  hastily,  and  the  fear  came 
back  into  her  face.  "What  is  it?  Please  tell  me. 
Don't  keep  me  in  the  dark,  what  is  it?  What  have 
I  done  that  I  shouldn't  have  done?  This  mystery 
makes  me  uncomfortable." 

"Well,  of  course,  you  haven't  knowingly  done  any- 
thing— anything  wrong,  of  course  you  haven't.  But 
try  to  imagine  yourself  in  the  attitude  of  Mr.  Chal- 
mers for  a  moment  and  imagine  how  you  would  feel. 
A  valuable  secret  worth  hundreds  of  thousands  is 
caught  on  a  record;  the  record  goes  astray,  the  sup- 
position is  it  was  sent  by  mistake  in  place  of  one  of 
the  lesson  records ;  they  send  out  letters  to  one  hun- 
dred and  seventeen  persons  who  got  machines  that 
month  asking  them  to  return  Record  No.  33,  the 
record  bearing  this  number  having  been  found  where 
the  scientific  record  was  supposed  to  be.  Of  the  one 
hundred  and  seventeen  only  one  failed  to  comply 
with  the  request — that  one  was  a  certain  little  lady 
down  in  Kentucky." 

Amelie  almost  gasped  in  astonishment.  Her  face 
went  red,  and  he  could  see  by  the  lace  at  her  throat 
that  she  was  breathing  rapidly. 

"It  did  look  strange,  didn't  it?"  she  said,  resting 
225 


RECORD  NO.  33 


her  elbow  on  the  table  absently  and  putting  one  pink 
cheek  in  the  palm  of  her  hand.  Her  voice  was  very 
low  and  when  she  lifted  the  glass  of  water  to  her 
lips  he  saw  that  she  was  trembling  slightly.  "I 
didn't  know  that,"  she  finished  as  she  set  the  glass 
down.  "No  wonder  they  suspected  me  of  having  the 
record — especially  when  I  appeared  here  just  after 
the  reward  was  offered  and  wrote  that  fateful  yel- 
low slip.  Why  did  I  go  there  ?  Why  did  I  ever  go 
to  see  Mr.  Lawrence  anyway,  when  I  had  no  real 
business  with  him — no  business  whatever?"  She 
spoke  desperately  and  he  only  looked  at  her  won- 
deringly.  With  one  hand  she  toyed  with  the  glass 
nervously  and  in  the  palm  of  the  other  she  still  held 
her  flushed  cheek,  on  which  her  long  lashes  rested, 
for  she  looked  down  as  if  meditating  seriously.  The 
Professor  saw  only  the  pretty  picture  she  made,  he 
refused  to  doubt  her,  and  still — he  wished  she  would 
be  more  frank.  After  a  moment  it  was  she  who  took 
up  the  story  he  had  begun. 

"And  then  they  offered  the  reward,  and  I  came 
as  if  in  answer,  and  wrote  that  yellow  slip.  Then 
they  told  Mr.  Chalmers  to  come,  that  I  was  there, 
that  I  had  his  record,  that  they  must  get  it  at  any 
cost.  And  perfectly  ignorant  of  the  existence  or  the 
loss  of  that  record,  I  sat  there  and  allowed  them  to 
cross-question  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  criminal!  It 

226 


THE  PROFESSOR 


was  cruel,  uncalled  for.  I  think  they  might  have 
told  me.  They  could  at  least  have  asked  me  plainly 
whether  I  had  the  record  or  not,  and  I  could  have 
satisfied  them.  How  foolish  and  unnecessary  the 
whole  thing  was."  She  spoke  softly  but  he  could  see 
that  she  was  worried  and  agitated.  She  seemed  al- 
most tearful.  Was  she  really  at  the  weeping  point? 
He  felt  that  this  would  be  too  much  for  him.  He 
wished  she  would  look  up  and  smile  so  that  he  could 
be  sure  there  were  no  tears  in  her  eyes.  He  tried  to 
think  of  something  to  say  that  would  comfort  her, 
but  everything  that  suggested  itself  seemed  far  too 
personal  and  sympathetic  and  tender.  Then  the 
waiter  began  to  serve  the  dinner  and  the  day  was 
saved.  She  looked  up  at  him  at  last.  In  her  deep 
blue  eyes  he  saw  softer  lights  playing  and  even  a 
faint  smile  curved  the  rosy  lips. 

"Don't  be  so  regretful,"  he  found  the  courage  to 
say.  "If  that  had  never  happened " 

" this  would  never  have  happened,"  she  fin- 
ished, and  then  she  blushed  furiously  and  began  on 
her  soup. 

"But  the  story  is  not  finished,"  she  began  again 
abruptly,  her  confusion  gone.  "After  I  convinced 
them,  as  I  thought  I  did,  at  the  end  of  that  inter- 
view that  I  didn't  have  the  record,  why  did  Miss 
Warren  and  Mr.  Raines  take  such  a  sudden,  such  an 

227 


RECORD  NO.  33 


unnatural  fancy  to  me  ?  Why  that  automobile  drive  ? 
Why  that  dinner?  Why  you?  Why  everything? 
Please  tell  me." 

The  Professor  tried  to  trace  the  thread  of  events 
for  her,  to  make  her  understand  the  workings  of 
Mr.  Chalmers'  mind.  He  told  her  how  they  had 
managed  to  convince  themselves  that  she  did  have 
the  record  and  of  how  the  idea  finally  took  posses- 
sion of  Mr.  Chalmers  and  he  became  obsessed  with 
it.  He  explained  how  this  led  to  the  suggestion  that 
Miss  Warren  entertain  her  with  the  view  of  getting 
information  as  to  her  plans  and  how  Carter  Raines 
had  simply  been  brought  in  as  a  convenience. 

"I  had  a  talk  with  both  Mr.  Chalmers  and  Mr. 
Lawrence  after  you  and  Miss  Warren  went  to  the 
matinee  this  afternoon,"  he  said,  "and  I  tried  to 
make  them  see  the  absurdity  of  their  supposition  as  I 
saw  it.  I  knew  Miss  Warren  and  the  boy  were  only 
interested  because  spending  money  on  dinners,  the- 
aters and  all  that  was  a  novel  experience  for  them 
and  I  somehow  didn't  like  the  idea  of  their  using  you 
as  their  tool  in  this  way.  That  was  why  I  agreed 
to  their  suggestion  that  I  should  see  you  to-night. 
While  I  was  by  no  means  willing  to  play  the  role  of 
detective,  I  did  want  to  see  you  and  tell  you  the 
whole  situation  freely  and  frankly  so  that  you  would 
be  in  a  position  to  protect  yourself  in  future  from 

228 


THE  PROFESSOR 


their  suspicions  and  their  jokes.  They  didn't  seem 
willing  to  accept  my  opinion  that  you  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  the  record  because  they  knew  I  had  seen 
you  only  once,  for  a  short  while.  But  I  knew  they 
would  take  my  word  for  it  after  I  had  seen  and 
talked  with  you." 

"How  shall  I  ever,  ever  be  able  to  thank  you?" 
she  said,  and  tears  did  come  into  her  eyes  and  make 
her  blink  a  little  as  she  tried  to  begin  her  dinner. 

"To  thank  me  I"  he  said,  trying  in  his  awkward 
way  to  soothe  her,  and  to  persuade  her  to  leave  the 
subject  and  be  happy  again.  "What  have  you  to 
thank  me  for?  For  keeping  you  from  spinning  up 
the  Avenue  in  a  big  touring-car  and  dining  afterward 
at  fashionable  hotels  and  from  doing  other  splendid 
things?  Why  I  feel  as  if  I  can  never  thank  you  for 
coming  here  with  me  instead  of  going  to  the  Ritz 
for  an  elaborate  dinner.  Many  a  woman  would  be 
seriously  offended  with  me,  I  am  only  glad  that  you 
are  not." 

And  the  dinner  was  a  very  delightful  one  that 
reminded  her  of  New  Orleans.  The  waiters  spoke 
to  the  Professor  in  French,  and  he  replied,  some- 
times in  the  actual  words  she  had  heard  him  say  in 
the  little  machine  on  her  closet  shelf  when  it  meant 
so  much  to  her. 

She  was  glad  there  were  no  glittering  chandeliers, 
229 


RECORD  NO.  33 


no  crowds,  no  music  to  drown  the  voice  of  her 
French  Professor.  She  followed  the  lead  of  his 
spirit  and  forgot  the  unpleasant  things  that  had  been 
mentioned  between  them  as  he  told  her  he  wished  her 
to  do.  She  gave  herself  up  to  the  only  real  happi- 
ness she  had  ever  known  and  she  took  thought  of 
neither  the  past  nor  of  the  future.  She  was  here 
to-night  in  a  quiet  little  cafe  with  her  French  Pro- 
fessor and  all  her  dull  Merryville  yesterdays  were 
dissolved  in  the  joyous  red  wine  of  to-night.  And 
if  indeed  there  stole  now  and  then  into  her  thoughts 
questionings  of  the  morrow,  they  merely  bubbled  and 
effervesced  on  the  surface  of  her  happiness  and  dis- 
appeared. 

They  talked  mostly  of  New  Orleans. 

"Dear  old  New  Orleans — I  fancy  it  has  changed 
a  great  deal  since  I  was  there,  for  that  has  been 
— well,  I  do  not  like  to  think  how  many  years  ago  it 
has  been,  for  I  was  just  a  child  when  my  father  died 
and  mother  never  would  consent  to  go  there  any 
more.  She  said  it  was  just  a  swamp  full  of  mosqui- 
toes and  she  never  liked  it,"  he  said. 

"New  Orleans  has  changed  a  great  deal,"  she  an- 
swered. "I  have  an  old  uncle  living  there — a  brother 
of  mother's — and  I  have  been  there  just  a  few  times 
myself  since  I  was  a  child.  My  uncle  is  quite  typical 
of  old  New  Orleans  and  it  is  amusing  how  he  re- 

230 


THE  PROFESSOR 


sents  the  modernizing  of  the  city.  He  considers 
every  skyscraper  a  sacrilege.  He  told  me  of  the 
woman's  club  that  had  revolutionized  the  sewerage 
system  and  made  other  civic  reforms  there  and  he 
added,  'Those  women  have  ruined  New  Orleans. 
They  have  cleaned  it  up  and  ruined  it.  The  French 
market  has  lost  its  charm — since  they  cleaned  it  up 
and  modernized  it' !" 

"How  interesting!"  he  said  laughing.  "I  must 
meet  that  old  uncle  when  I  go.  I  shall  agree  with 
him  I  am  sure.  But  they  cannot  keep  the  flowers 
from  blooming.  The  splendid  fragrant  magnolias, 
those  delicious  little  white  jessamines  that  bloomed 
at  night  in  my  grandmother's  garden,  and  the  roses 
— the  most  gorgeous  hothouse  specimens  hold  no  joy 
for  me  equal  to  the  memory  of  those  delightful 
flowers  of  Louisiana." 

"The  magnolias  and  the  jessamine  and  the  roses" 
came  floating  back  over  her  memory  like  a  drift  of 
perfume  from  the  flowers  themselves.  Then  she 
looked  away  from  her  dream  into  the  eyes  of  her 
French  Professor  and  felt  as  happy  as  if  she  had 
held  in  her  hands  a  bunch  of  the  real  flowers  they 
both  loved. 

"Yes,  that  night-blooming  jessamine  was  a  favor- 
ite in  many  of  the  old-fashioned  gardens.  My  own 
dear  little  French  grandmother  lived  in  one  of  the 

231 


RECORD  NO.  33 


latticed  houses  down  in  the  French  quarter  and  her 
garden  was  in  a  court,  the  approach  to  which  led 
from  the  street  through  a  queer  green  door  and  then 
through  what  we  call  an  arcade.  I  can  see  that  little 
flower-decked  court  now — and  how  I  used  to 
love  it!" 

And  thus  they  talked  on  with  the  delight  and  en- 
thusiasm of  children. 

"I  suppose  it's  only  human  to  want  just  exactly 
what  we  have  not  and  cannot  get,"  he  said  musingly 
over  his  coffee.  "I  have  always  dreamed  of  a  little 
home  of  my  own  where  there  were  flowers — mag- 
nolias and  jessamines  and  roses,  you  know,  and  those 
other  lovely  flowers  that  grew  in  the  gardens  of  our 
little  French  grandmothers.  And  of  course  that 
home  would  have  to  be  in  Louisiana,"  he  added 
smiling.  "We  always  get  back  to  that  subject,  don't 
we?" 

"Yes,  it  would  have  to  be  in  Louisiana,"  she  said 
gravely,  "for  I  have  tried  to  transplant  those  very 
flowers  and  they  are  not  happy  and  they  do  not 
flourish  and  they  do  not  do  their  best  any  more  than 
we  can  do  our  best  when  we  are  trying  to  grow  in 
foreign  soil."  And  she  thought  of  the  struggling 
little  orange-tree  and  of  the  frail  Marechal  Niel  rose 
that  she  put  into  her  pit  every  Fall  and  took  out 
again  every  Spring. 

232 


THE  PROFESSOR 


"It's  the  same  way  with  people,"  said  the  Pro- 
fessor. "Transplant  them  and  they  do  not  become 
what  God  intended  them  to  be." 

"An  old  saying  of  my  very  own,"  said  Amelie. 
"But,"  she  continued,  "people  are  different  from 
flowers  in  this,  that  they  are  sometimes  growing  in 
their  own  soil  and  do  not  know  it." 

"By  which  you  probably  mean  that  I  am  doing 
just  about  all  of  which  I  am  capable  when  I  sit  all 
day  and  correct  stupid  French  exercises  or  talk  into 
a  hole  in  the  wall  for  the  sole  benefit  of  a  machine 
in  a  soundproof  room,  to  a  cold,  heartless  machine 
that  neither  hears  nor  feels  nor  talks  back." 

"Not  by  any  means,"  she  said  in  the  midst  of  his 
laugh.  "I  think  no  earnest  effort,  no  concrete  de- 
sire is  ever  wholly  lost.  You  have  very  definite  de- 
sires and  therefore  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  you  will 
some  day  be  growing  and  flourishing  in  the  soil  in 
which  you  can  grow  best — and  that  soil  I  am  quite 
sure  is  Louisiana.  Now,  I  could  not  stay  in  New 
York.  It  is  absolutely  uncongenial  to  me.  That  is 
why  I  said  that  some  people  are  growing  in  their 
right  soil  and  they  don't  know  it.  I  had  to  come  to 
New  York  to  find  out  that  my  own  little  home  down 
in  Kentucky  is  where  I  really  should  be.  I  am  glad 
that  I  came  but  I  shall  not  be  sorry  to  go  back.  In 
New  York  the  most  visible  thing  is  the  material  civil- 

233 


RECORD  NO.  33 


ization,  and  spirit  is  lost  in  this  mad  materialism. 
Down  in  Kentucky  I  have  a  simple  home,  quiet  and 
sweet,  and  I  have  a  little  flower  garden.  I  call  it 
my  cathedral  garden  for  there  is  where  I  worship. 
Isn't  it  Tennyson  who  says  that  if  we  could  know 
the  secret  of  every  flower  from  each  tiny  root  to  the 
tip  of  each  lovely  petal  that  we  could  know  the  whole 
beautiful  secret  of  creation?  That  is  the  way  I 
feel." 

"Your  little  cathedral  garden,"  he  exclaimed  won- 
deringly.  "What  a  beautiful  thought!  And  in  that 
garden  you  have " 

"I  have  narcissus  and  hyacinths  and  jonquils  and 
crocuses  in  the  Spring,  and  nasturtiums  and  pansies 
and  sweet  peas  and  roses  and  lilies  in  the  Summer, 
and  I  have  cosmos,  and  golden  glow  and  dozens  of 
other  beautiful  flowers  in  the  Fall,  and  then  comes 
the  Winter  of  my  discontent  when  I  have  nothing  ex- 
cept what  I  nurse  in  my  pit.  Then  is  when  I  want  to 
go  to  Louisiana,  for  I  love  the  flowers  and  when 
they  are  gone  I  am  very,  very  lonely." 

"The  picture  fits  the  frame,"  said  the  Professor 
dreamily.  "This  doesn't  suit  you  and  that  does.  If 
I  had  been  choosing  a  setting  for  you  I  should  have 
chosen  just  such  a  little  cottage  as  you  describe  with 
the  procession  of  flowers  you  love  passing  year  by 
year  across  your  pathway.  And  even  the  Winter 

234 


THE  PROFESSOR 


of  your  discontent,  when  your  affectionate  care  is 
coaxing  your  discouraged  strugglers  in  your  pit — 
that,  too,  is  all  right — for  if  there  were  no  Winter 
there  could  be  no  Spring  and  no  Summer.  And 
then,"  he  added,  leaning  over  and  looking  into  her 
dreaming  eyes,  "how  clear  seems  the  pathway  to  the 
stars  when  you  look  up  through  the  leafless  boughs 
of  the  trees!  I  shall  always  think  of  you  as  wor- 
shiping in  your  little  cathedral  garden." 

The  whirr  of  the  electric  fans,  the  rattle  of  a  cab 
in  the  street,  the  swish  of  the  artificial  breeze  among 
the  palm  leaves  and  the  sound  of  his  voice  speaking 
to  her,  these  things  she  was  for  one  swift  moment 
conscious  of,  and  then  she  realized  that  they  were 
the  last  of  the  diners  and  that  even  some  of  the 
lights  had  been  turned  off. 

"It  must  be  late,"  she  said  suddenly.  "How 
thoughtless  of  me  to  keep  you  !" 

"Must  you  go?"  he  said.  "This  isn't  late  for 
New  York.  In  the  larger  cafes  the  evening  is 
scarcely  beginning.  This  is  a  quiet  place  where  most 
of  the  patrons  come  regularly,  dine  and  leave  early, 
and  I  thought  you  might  like  it.  I  have  been  coming 
here  for  years  and  I  like  the  simplicity  of  it." 

And  before  she  had  time  to  try  to  tell  how  much 
she  did  like  it,  he  broke  off  with, 

"That  exquisite  miniature — tell  me  about  it.  I 
235 


RECORD  NO.  33 


have  been  admiring  it  all  evening,"  and  he  looked 
very  attentively  at  the  pin  in  the  lace  at  her  throat. 

"That  is  my  little  French  grandmother,"  she  said, 
unpinning  the  treasure  and  passing  it  over  to  him. 
"It  is  really  very  beautiful  as  you  will  see. 

"She  was  my  mother's  mother  and  I  remember 
her  just  a  little.  I  have  told  you  about  her  home  in 
the  old  French  quarter  of  New  Orleans.  She  had 
a  country  home  called  The  Camelias.  This  home 
was  burned  during  the  War  but  my  mother  told  me 
about  it  many  times.  The  family  went  every  year 
when  the  camelias  were  in  full  bloom — long  rows  of 
them  along  the  avenue  leading  from  the  big  gate  to 
the  old  colonial  residence,  and  groves  of  them  all 
over  the  place — pink  and  white  and  red." 

The  Professor  held  the  miniature  in  his  hand  and 
listened  as  she  talked. 

"But  really  we  must  go,"  she  said,  and  he  gave 
the  treasure  back  into  her  hands  and  said, 

"I  am  thoughtless  to  keep  you,  but  it  has  been  de- 
lightful to  hear  you  talk.  I  must  ask  you  to  forgive 
me." 

"Somehow  I  am  glad  that  you  are  not  going  to 
stay  in  New  York,"  he  told  her,  after  they  had  gone 
into  the  street.  "It  doesn't  suit  you — you  are  too 
human  to  live  among  all  this  machinery." 

"You  are  giving  me  a  real  sort  of  a  prejudice 
236 


THE  PROFESSOR 


against  machines,"  she  returned  with  more  meaning 
than  he  divined,  "yet  some  of  them  are  truly  wonder- 
ful, you  must  admit.  Those  talking-machines  and 
those  that  furnish  music,  for  instance — why,  they  are 
almost  human." 

"The  machines  may  be  almost  human,"  he  said 
smiling,  "but  the  humans  that  associate  with  them 
are  almost  machines.  I  had  some  experience  with 
that  last  year  when  I  talked  into  those  records,  day 
after  day,  and  week  after  week.  I  talked  French 
and  German  and  by  the  time  I  had  finished  the  whole 
course  in  each  language  I  was  little  more  than  a  ma- 
chine myself." 

And  Amelie  Trent  only  smiled,  as  if  she  had  not 
known  it  before. 

He  thought  now  and  then  of  how  silent  she  had 
been — of  how  little  she  had  told  him.  But  he  was 
quite  sure  that  this  did  not  prompt  him  to  say  as 
they  smiled  good-night  into  each  other's  eyes,  that 
he  wanted  to  see  her  again  before  she  left  New 
York. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MR.     CHALMERS     SECURES     NEW     AND     STARTLING 
EVIDENCE 

NEXT  morning  Amelie  awoke  to  a  new  life  and 
she  looked  from  her  room  in  the  hotel  on 
a  wholly  new  world.    A  song  of  happiness 
was  singing  in  her  heart  and  she  was  marveling  how 
in  a  few  short  hours  her  whole  being  could  be  trans- 
formed.    The  joyousness  of  her  nature  was  at  its 
flood  tide  and  everything  she  touched,  everything  she 
did  seemed  glorified. 

Far  into  the  night  she  had  thought  of  the  quiet 
little  cafe  with  its  cool  stirring  palms,  its  simplicity 
— and  her  French  Professor.  This  morning  dreams 
seemed  tangible  things  and  she  had  changed  her 
opinion  about  memories.  She  might  never,  never  see 
the  Professor  again.  He  might  go  to  his  own 
dream  life  in  Louisiana  and  she  might  return  to  her 
simple  home  in  Kentucky,  and  still  she  told  herself 
that  never,  never  could  time  or  circumstance  dim  the 
memory  of  those  precious  hours  she  had  spent  with 

238 


NEW  EVIDENCE 


him  that  evening.  With  this  memory,  she  tried  to 
believe,  she  should  be  more  than  content,  for  was  it 
not  far  more  real,  far  more  delightful  than  the 
imprisoned  voice  she  had  heard  so  often  down  in 
Kentucky?  Poor,  love-starved  little  soul !  How  easy 
all  these  things  were  to  believe  this  morning!  How 
little  could  she  realize  then  in  the  afterglow,  the 
golden  memory  of  that  delightful  evening,  that  mem- 
ories are  but  the  phantoms  of  those  things  that  have 
meant  most  to  us,  phantoms  that  sometimes  fling 
dark  shadows  about  us  and  sometimes  mock  us  with 
their  emptiness,  but  shadows  that  never,  never 
satisfy! 

His  frank  explanation  of  things  that  had  been 
happening  to  her  had  cleared  away  some  of  her 
doubts  and  misgivings.  She  felt  relieved  and  grate- 
ful, if  still  a  trifle  conscious-stricken  over  having  told 
him  so  little. 

Acting  on  her  own  judgment,  in  which  she  had 
been  sustained  by  the  Professor,  Amelie  decided  to 
invite  Miss  Warren  to  have  lunch  as  her  guest  the 
following  day.  Accordingly,  by  appointment,  she 
went  at  noon  to  Mr.  Lawrence's  office,  which  had 
been  the  scene  of  some  of  the  most  significant  happen- 
ings of  her  life.  But  she  went  with  different  feelings, 
with  a  changed  attitude  toward  every  person  with 
whom  she  had  come  in  contact  there.  She  had  de- 

239 


RECORD  NO.  33 


cided  not  to  give  any  sign  that  she  was  aware  of 
the  suspicions  that  had  prompted  the  apparently 
lavish  hospitality  of  Miss  Warren  and  Mr.  Raines. 
Had  she  suddenly  dropped  them  she  would  have  ap- 
peared rude  and  unappreciative.  Besides,  she  be- 
lieved that  such  a  course  on  her  part  might  only  serve 
to  deepen  the  suspicion  which  she  was  most  anxious 
to  dispel.  She  knew  that  her  position  must  seem  pe- 
culiar, unnatural,  but  she  knew  also  that  never,  never 
could  she  explain  to  anyone  just  what  her  relation  to 
the  whole  affair  really  was.  She  had  absolutely  no 
explanation  to  offer  as  to  why  she  was  in  New  York, 
and  she  could  not  possibly  offer  the  slightest  infor- 
mation as  to  why  she  did  not  return  Record  No. 
33  in  accordance  with  Mr.  Lawrence's  request  as  the 
other  purchasers  had  done.  And  then,  that  yellow 
slip !  Why  had  she  been  so  foolish  as  to  go  there, 
and  having  gone,  why  had  she  written  that  yellow 
slip?  For  the  hundredth  time  she  was  regretting 
this.  And  yet,  as  she  and  the  Professor  had  re- 
minded each  other  the  evening  before,  if  she  had 
not — well,  regret  as  she  might  in  her  moments  of 
reason,  she  could  not  forget,  for  even  an  instant,  the 
deliciousness  of  some  of  the  experiences  to  which 
her  capriciousness  had  undoubtedly  led  her.  But  the 
deepest  regret  she  had,  and  one  of  which  she  was 
always  conscious,  was  that  she  must  still  keep  the 

240 


NEW  EVIDENCE 


Professor  quite  in  the  dark.  In  fact,  he,  of  all  peo- 
ple, must  never  know.  How  she  appreciated  and 
marveled  at  his  confidence  in  her  in  the  face  of  evi- 
dences that  had  almost  convicted  her  in  the  opinion 
of  others.  And  yet,  how  completely  she  had  with- 
held from  him  the  slightest  fact  that  could  serve  to 
sustain  or  strengthen  this  confidence.  She  was  try- 
ing now,  vaguely  it  is  true,  to  see  the  end  of  it  all. 
She  knew  she  could  never  tell  him,  and  yet  she  felt 
that  it  would  be  dreadful  for  him  never  to  know, 
never  to  be  absolutely  certain  that  she  spoke  the 
truth  when  she  said  that  she  did  not  have  the  miss- 
ing record.  What  must  he  think  of  her?  What 
should  he  think  of  her  when  it  was  all  over,  when  the 
dream  should  be  really  ended,  when  she  should  be 
awake,  and  when  she  should  be  back  in  Kentucky 
again?  She  was  not  troubled  about  the  opinion  of 
the  others,  but  she  thought  only  of  him. 

From  Miss  Warren  and  from  the  people  whom 
she  knew  at  Mr.  Lawrence's  office  she  received  the 
usual  cordial  greetings.  Only  Mr.  Lawrence,  she 
thought,  seemed  less  interested  in  her  than  he  had 
seemed  on  the  day  before.  She  learned  from  Miss 
Warren  that  the  Professor  had  preceded  her  there 
as  he  had  told  her  he  would. 

"Didn't  you  meet  the  Professor  and  Mr.  Chal- 
mers ?  They  left  just  a  few  minutes  before  you  came 

241 


RECORD  NO.  33 


in,"  said  Miss  Warren,  as  she  put  on  her  hat. 
Amelie  was  assisting  her  with  her  coat,  and  before 
she  had  time  to  answer,  the  door  was  noisily  opened 
and  Mr.  Chalmers  came  in.  He  appeared  hurried 
and  somewhat  excited.  He  thought  he  had  left  his 
notebook,  he  said,  and  he  felt  sure  it  must  be  there. 
Having  greeted  him  hastily,  Amelie  joined  the  others 
in  looking  about  the  desks  and  tables  and  on  the 
floor.  Mr.  Lawrence,  who  had  excused  himself  and 
who  had  begun  to  work  at  his  papers,  also  joined 
in  the  search. 

Amelie  had  laid  her  bag  and  gloves  on  the  table, 
while  she  assisted  Miss  Warren  in  putting  on  her 
coat,  and  she  turned  around  just  in  time  to  be  horri- 
fied, frightened  to  see  Mr.  Chalmers  brush  them  off 
in  passing  the  table.  As  the  bag  struck  the  floor  she 
neither  breathed  nor  moved  for  a  moment,  and  the 
color  left  her  face  instantly.  Her  precious  record, 
was  it  broken,  shattered?  Then  she  was  struck  dumb 
when  she  saw  that  the  bag  had  fallen  open.  She 
stood  as  if  paralyzed  while  Mr.  Lawrence  stooped, 
picked  up  the  bag,  and  handed  it  to  her.  He  held  it 
by  one  handle  and  it  swung  open,  leaving  the  edge 
of  that  record  plainly  visible.  The  envelope  had 
fallen  to  the  floor.  Mr.  Chalmers  very  deliber- 
ately and  laboriously  bent,  picked  it  up,  stuck  out  his 
thick  lips,  raised  his  eyebrows,  glanced  significantly 

242 


NEW  EVIDENCE 


at  Mr.  Lawrence  and  gave  a  loud  grunt  as  he  handed 
it  over  to  her. 

For  a  full  moment  no  one  spoke.  In  the  midst  of 
the  city  noises  the  silence  in  the  room  during  that 
minute  seemed  to  Amelie  sickening,  unbearable.  She 
knew  that  the  embarrassment  and  confusion  she  felt 
must  show  in  her  face,  for  she  could  not  conceal  it, 
and  when  she  took  the  envelope  from  Mr.  Chalmers' 
hand  her  own  hand  was  trembling  visibly.  She  closed 
the  bag  with  a  snap,  then  she  recovered  herself  and 
turned  to  Miss  Warren. 

"Are  you  ready?"  she  asked.  At  a  glance  she 
took  in  the  attitude  and  the  expression  of  each  mem- 
ber of  the  little  group.  She  caught  a  knowing  I-told- 
you-so  look  that  Mr.  Chalmers  was  casting  at  the 
moment  toward  Mr.  Lawrence  who  was  contem- 
plating her  in  blank  amazement  Miss  Warren 
seemed  uncertain  what  to  do.  She  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment before  she  spoke,  and  then  she  turned  to  Mr. 
Lawrence. 

"Is  there  anything  you  wish  me  to  do  here,  sir?" 
she  asked.  "If  there  is  I  will  not  go."  Amelie 
caught  the  meaning  look  in  Mr.  Lawrence's  face  as 
he  said, 

"You  may  go." 

Mr.  Chalmers  forgot  his  haste  of  a  few  minutes 
before  and  sat  down.  He  breathed  heavily  and 

243 


RECORD  NO.  33 


tapped  the  desk  before  which  he  sat  nervously  and 
impatiently,  as  if  anxious  for  them  to  leave. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  now?"  he  jerked 
out,  as  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  behind  the  two 
girls.  "I  was  right  after  all.  If  it  took  evidence  to 
convince  you  of  something  I  knew  all  the  time,  well, 
all  I  need  say  is,  you  have  the  evidence.  Now,  I  ask 
you  one  question,  Lawrence.  Are  you,  or  are  you 
not,  satisfied  now  that  your  little  Miss  Innocence  has 
my  record?" 

"I  could  want  no  stronger  evidence,"  returned 
Mr.  Lawrence.  "There  could  be  no  other  possible 
explanation  of  this,  no  conceivable  reason  why  she 
should  carry  any  other  record  with  her  like  that." 

"I  looked  at  the  envelope  carefully,"  said  Mr. 
Chalmers  in  his  coarsest  whisper,  and  he  tapped  Mr. 
Lawrence  on  the  knee,  "and  do  you  know  what  num- 
ber was  on  the  envelope?  It  was  33." 

"I  suspected  as  much,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence,  a  little 
dolefully  as  if  he  were  sorry  for  the  latest  convinc- 
ing evidence.  "The  envelope  you  found  in  your  safe 
was  blank,  just  as  it  should  have  been,  wasn't  it? 
But  it  was  only  the  records  that  were  changed." 

"Yes,  my  envelope  is  blank  and  my  record  is  No. 
33.  Of  course,  her  envelope  is  numbered  thirty- 
three  and  the  center  of  her  record,  where  the  num- 
ber should  be,  is  blank." 

244 


NEW  EVIDENCE 


"Chalmers,  you  are  right.  Innocent  as  she  looks, 
that  girl  has  the  record.  I'm  convinced  now  beyond 
the  shadow  of  a  doubt.  But  what  her  scheme  is, 
what  she  intends  to  do  with  it,  I  have  not  the  slight- 
est idea." 

"What  I  want  to  know,  Lawrence,  is  this :  by  what 
process  can  we  force  her  to  give  up  that  record? 
Have  we  any  legal  grounds  for  action  against  her?" 

"Well,"  returned  Mr.  Lawrence,  "only  a  lawyer 
could  tell  you  that.  The  most  important  thing  now 
is  to  place  the  whole  affair  in  the  hands  of  your 
counsel.  No  time  is  to  be  lost.  I  advise  you  to  act 
immediately." 

Mr.  Chalmers  turned  to  the  telephone  and  spent 
some  minutes  trying  to  reach  his  counsel.  It  was  Sat- 
urday, which  made  this  difficult,  and  he  had  to  con- 
tent himself  for  the  present  with  leaving  an  urgent 
message. 

He  turned  to  his  friend  again  with  a  look  of  relief 
in  his  face  and  he  rubbed  his  hands  together  with 
an  air  of  slight  satisfaction. 

"I  am  hopeful,  now,"  he  said.  "We  know  that 
she  has  the  record  and  I  feel  sure  that  there  is  a 
way  we  can  force  her  to  give  it  up,  if  she  persists 
in  refusing  to  do  so.  I  should  hear  from  Shelton  in 
an  hour  at  least.  Will  you  hold  yourself  in  readi- 
ness for  a  conference?" 

245 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"Certainly,"  returned  Mr.  Lawrence,  and  then 
smiled.  "I  can't  help  but  be  amused  to  think  how 
gullible  Marville  is.  That  girl's  pretty  face  and 
simple  manner  fooled  him  completely." 

"Oh,  that  wasn't  what  got  him,"  returned  Chal- 
mers, really  laughing  now.  "She  was  Southern. 
That's  his  long  suit,  you  know.  He's  positively 
fanatical  over  Southern  people,  talks  about  them  all 
the  time  and  holds  them  up  as  examples  for  the  rest 
of  us  cold-blooded  folks." 

"He  was  so  absolutely  sure,  this  morning,  you  re- 
member; said  it  was  an  impossibility,  she  didn't  have 
it,  she  couldn't  have  it.  I'll  admit  he  had  succeeded 
in  convincing  me." 

"He  didn't  convince  me.  I  never  was  convinced. 
I  never  even  doubted  that  she  had  the  record.  The 
chain  of  circumstantial  evidence  was  too  complete. 
And  if  more  evidence  was  needed,  we  certainly 
had  it  this  morning  in  the  presence  of  three  wit- 
nesses." 

Mr.  Lawrence  rose  and  paced  the  floor,  an  amused 
smile  playing  over  his  features. 

"I  can't  help  but  think  of  Marville  and  of  what 
he  will  have  to  say.  This  is  Saturday.  He  won't 
be  in  of  course  until  Monday.  By  that  time  Shelton 
will  be  on  the  job  and  we  will  probably  have  closed 
in  on  her  and  he  will  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing, 

246 


NEW  EVIDENCE 


possibly  from  her  own  reluctant,  rebellious  lips,  the 
full  confession  of  his  little  Miss  Innocence." 

Meanwhile  Amelie  and  Miss  Warren  were  trying 
to  make  conversation  with  each  other  when  both 
were  filled  with  repressed  excitement.  Neither  re- 
ferred to  the  incident  which  had  so  recently  occurred 
in  Mr.  Lawrence's  office,  but  of  course  it  was  upper- 
most in  the  minds  of  both.  Amelie  felt  that  there 
was  absolutely  nothing  she  could  say  that  would  in 
the  slightest  way  justify  her  in  the  eyes  of  her  com- 
panion. Miss  Warren  could  think  of  nothing  to 
say  that  might  invite  a  confidence  further  than  the 
things  she  had  already  said.  They  indulged  in  sur- 
face talk,  and  their  observations  were  made  princi- 
pally on  the  most  commonplace  things  in  the  most 
commonplace  way.  Both  were  relieved  when  the 
luncheon  was  finally  ended  and  they  were  nearing 
Miss  Warren's  office  again. 

"I  don't  work  on  Saturday  afternoons,"  Miss 
Warren  was  saying,  "but  I  think  I  will  run  in  to  see 
if  Mr.  Lawrence  does  want  me  to  do  a  little  some- 
thing." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  curious  and  impa- 
tient to  get  back  to  discuss  with  the  two  men  the  most 
recent  happening  in  the  affair  in  which  all  were  so 
keenly  interested.  Amelie  was  quite  aware  of  this. 
Her  perceptions  had  been  considerably  sharpened 

247 


RECORD  NO.  S3 


during  those  last  three  days  and  she  was  far  more 
receptive  to  impressions  than  she  had  been  in  the 
beginning  of  her  adventure.  She  was  immensely  re- 
lieved that  Miss  Warren  did  not  suggest  any  future 
luncheons,  dinners  or  matinees,  as  she  felt  very 
strongly  that  she  never  wanted  to  see  Miss  War- 
ren, Mr.  Raines,  Mr.  Chalmers  or  Mr.  Lawrence 
again. 

It  was  only  after  she  was  alone  and  on  her  way  to 
her  hotel  again  that  she  fell  to  wondering  and  specu- 
lating on  the  probable  effect  of  the  accident  which 
exposed  her  beloved  record  to  the  cold,  suspicious 
gaze  of  the  three  people  in  that  hateful  office.  If 
they  had  believed  that  she  had  the  missing  record 
before,  how  much  more  strongly  they  must  believe 
it  now. 

And  the  Professor!  What  would  he  think?  What 
would  he  say?  Would  he,  too,  believe  her  deceptive, 
and  capable  of  scheming?  He  had  said  that  he 
wished  to  see  her  again;  would  his  faith  be  so  dead 
when  they  had  told  him  of  the  scene  which  he  had 
just  missed,  that  he  would  change  his  mind?  Would 
he  feel  that  she  was  not  worthy  of  his  kindness,  his 
interest?  No,  she  must  see  him  again.  She  could 
not  go  back  to  her  own  little  world  again  to  take  up 
the  thread  of  life  where  she  had  dropped  it,  with- 
out being  quite  sure  that  he  at  least  did  not  wholly 

248 


NEW  EVIDENCE 


misunderstand  even  if  she  could  never  make  him  un- 
derstand her.  She  tried  to  make  up  her  mind  to  tell 
him  of  the  record  she  did  have,  without  telling  him 
the  rest.  Then  at  least  he  would  know  that  she  did 
not  have  the  missing  record  and  he  would  also  com- 
prehend some  of  her  actions  which  must  perplex  him 
now. 

In  fact,  she  did  decide  that  should  she  not  hear 
from  him  or  see  him  within  the  next  day  or  two  that 
she  would  herself  seek  an  interview.  That  she  would 
tell  him  that  she  had  the  Louisiana  record  which  he 
evidently  thought  he  had,  and  that  having  thus 
proven  herself  worthy  of  the  faith  he  had  expressed 
in  her  she  would  end  her  strange  adventure  and  re- 
turn to  Kentucky. 

But  it  was  not  left  to  her  to  seek  the  interview. 
She  spent  the  afternoon  attending  to  some  of  the 
queer  commissions  which  had  been  intrusted  to  her 
by  friends  back  in  Merryville,  and  returning  to  the 
hotel  late  in  the  afternoon  she  found  his  telephone 
call  awaiting  her. 

At  first  she  was  very  happy  over  this,  and  then  she 
began  to  be  fearful  lest  he  should  have  called  to  tell 
her  that  he  had  heard,  and  that  he  wished  for  an  ex- 
planation. 

"But  if  he  should,"  she  said  to  herself,  "I  will  tell 
him  that  I  wish  to  see  him,  and  when  I  do  see  him  I 

249 


RECORD  NO.  33 


shall  tell  him  that  it  is  his  record  and  not  that  belong- 
ing to  Mr.  Chalmers  that  I  have." 

A  spirit  of  coquetry,  of  capriciousness  that  was 
characteristic  of  her  but  which  she  had  had  little 
opportunity  to  indulge,  made  her  forget  every  sug- 
gestion that  was  unpleasant  and  turn  with  childish 
anticipation  to  the  telephone  for  a  conversation  with 
the  Professor. 

Before  he  had  spoken  a  dozen  words  she  knew 
that  he  had  not  heard  of  the  accident  in  Mr.  Law- 
rence's office,  an  accident  which,  if  she  had  known 
all,  she  would  have  regarded  as  nothing  short  of  a 
catastrophe. 

She  thought  she  detected  in  his  voice  a  new  note, 
one  of  joy  and  gayety.  He  was  no  longer  the  re- 
served Professor  she  had  seen  at  dinner  that  first 
eventful  evening,  and  again  in  Mr.  Lawrence's  of- 
fice. Nor  did  he  seem  doubtful  and  sympathetic  as 
he  had  at  times  at  that  delightful  dinner  on  the  fol- 
lowing evening.  He  was  talking  to  her  now  with 
boyish  enthusiasm  and  friendly  interest,  and  he  made 
her  feel  as  if  she  had  known  him  always.  He  said 
he  had  told  his  mother  about  her  and  that  she 
wished  very  much  to  see  her.  He  explained  that 
his  mother  was  an  invalid,  unable  to  leave  her  chair, 
and  he  offered  this  in  explanation  of  what  he  termed 
his  "second  presumptuous  request,"  which  was  that 

250 


NEW  EVIDENCE 


she  come  out  the  next  afternoon,  which  was  Sunday, 
to  his  suburban  home  for  a  visit  to  his  mother. 

She  could  not  resist,  or  at  least  she  did  not. 

And  so  it  was  arranged  that  he  was  to  come  for 
her  early  the  following  afternoon. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


EVERYTHING  that  was  spiritual  in  her  being 
seemed  awake  that  glorious  Sabbath  morn- 
ing and  instinctively  Amelie  thought  of  wor- 
ship. From  an  overflow  of  inward  joy  she  felt  that 
she  wanted  to  make  some  outward  sign,  so  she 
sought  out  a  church  and  went  in. 

The  spaciousness,  the  elaborateness  of  the  decora- 
tions, the  endless  rows  and  rows  of  pews,  the  great 
throng  of  handsomely  dressed  people,  the  splendid 
organ,  marvelous  in  its  volume  and  its  sweetness, 
and  the  singing  in  which  a  woman  in  a  very  high 
soprano  voice  insisted  that  she  would,  Oh  she  would 
magnify  the  Lord,  all  of  these  things  bewildered 
her  and  again  the  material  was  crowding  out  the 
spiritual  in  her  senses. 

She  missed  the  sunlight,  and  yet  she  was  conscious 
of  the  mellow  beauty  of  the  artificial  radiance  that 
shone  from  the  beautiful  lamps  of  Favriel  Tiffany, 
mounted  on  pedestals  of  Parisian  marble  embossed 

252 


MEMORIES  AND  A  STORM 

in  gold,  that  stood  on  either  side  of  the  rich  altar. 

And  the  sermon,  scarcely  as  long  as  Brother  Nel- 
son's prayer  in  which  he  had  prayed  that  she  should 
be  led  to  walk  "the  straight  and  narrow  way"  1 

How  far  away  from  God  all  this  seemed  to  her 
simple  soul,  accustomed  as  it  was  to  worship  in  the 
tiny  cathedral  garden,  where  every  delicate  petal  of 
every  rose  and  every  lily  was  a  sermon  to  her,  where 
the  light  was  from  God's  golden  sun  or  the  soft  silver 
moon,  and  where  the  music  was  the  trilling  of  the 
friendly  birds  in  the  old  sycamore-tree  and  the  crepe 
myrtle  bushes ! 

Amelie  knew  that  all  of  this  was  right  for  those 
who  sat  in  the  long  row  of  pews.  She  knew  that 
to  worship  God  with  less  of  splendor  of  surround- 
ings and  less  of  extravagance  than  they  were  ac- 
customed to  in  their  lives  would  not  be  worthy 
worship,  and  she  doubted  not  the  wisdom  of  those 
who  had  planned  and  perfected  all  of  the  details  of 
that  beautiful  and  impressive  service.  But  she  knew 
that  it  did  not  touch  nor  satisfy  a  simple  soul  like 
hers,  unaccustomed  as  it  was  to  glittering  trappings 
and  outward  show. 

When  the  Professor  called  for  her  that  afternoon 
he  seemed  gay  and  happy.  She  laughed  to  herself 
when  she  thought  of  how  she  had  pictured  him. 
There  was  no  flowing  black  mustache,  he  was  neither 

253 


RECORD  NO.  33 


tall  nor  impressive-looking,  nor  florid  in  his  manner, 
as  she  fancied  most  Frenchmen  are.  He  was  small 
of  stature,  not  much  taller  than  herself,  and  he  was 
fair.  Though  his  features  were  clean-cut  and  sen- 
sitive, there  was  no  manly  beauty  there.  She  loved 
the  quiet  gray  eyes  into  which  deeper  lights  came  and 
went,  and  the  expressions  of  his  features,  changing 
with  every  thought,  fascinated  her.  The  sensitive 
mouth,  the  slender  nose,  the  firm  chin,  and  best  of 
all  that  sympathy  and  gentleness  that  she  had  known 
even  when  she  only  knew  his  voice  from  the  little 
machine. 

There  was  a  ride  in  the  tunnel  under  the  Hud- 
son River  and  then  a  longer  one  in  a  suburban 
train  before  Amelie  Trent  and  Professor  Marville 
alighted  at  the  pretty  little  station  in  the  New  Jer- 
sey town  he  called  home.  At  the  very  end  of  an 
attractive  street  stood  the  two-story  white  cottage 
which  looked  restful  and  inviting  in  its  setting  of 
smooth  lawn  and  sheltering  trees.  She  was  not  slow 
to  learn  that  the  Professor  was  especially  proud  of 
that  little  scrap  of  lawn  and  those  ungainly  trees.  He 
explained  how  happy  he  had  been  since  they  had 
moved  to  "the  country,"  and  he  pointed  with  pride 
to  one  or  two  rose  bushes  along  the  walk  and  to  the 
really  beautiful  ferns  that  grew  in  splendid  perfec- 
tion in  their  pots  about  the  cozy  porch.  Here  he 

254 


MEMORIES  AND  A  STORM 

made  her  stop  to  rest  for  they  had  taken  the  ten- 
minute  walk  quickly  and  she  was  out  of  breath.  A 
green  rug  was  spread  on  the  floor,  and  there  were 
green  wicker  settees  with  cushions  on  them,  and  a 
table  and  comfortable  chairs  and  a  book  rack,  all 
in  the  same  green  wicker.  She  waited  there  in  all 
this  soft  green  loveliness  while  he  went  in  to  find 
his  mother.  Presently,  through  the  wide  open  win- 
dows that  led  into  the  cheery  dining-room,  in  its 
tones  of  dull  yellow,  he  came  with  her  in  a  wheel- 
chair. 

The  old  lady  was  beautiful  with  her  snow-white 
hair  and  her  full  black  silk  gown  and  she  greeted 
Amelie  cordially  and  made  her  feel  that  she  was 
really  glad  to  have  her  come.  But  there  was  a  cer- 
tain reserve  about  her  that  was  not  reflected  in  the 
son.  It  was  her  strength  and  dignity  that  impressed 
her  little  visitor,  who  instinctively  felt  that  something 
in  the  strong  soul  of  the  old  lady  had  been  long  re- 
pressed. He  was  more  temperamental,  more  like 
her  own  people. 

"Charles  has  told  me  of  you,"  she  said,  "and  I 
made  him  promise  to  ask  you  to  come  out  to  see 
me  because  he  tells  me  you  are  from  Louisiana.  I 
am  not  near  so  fond  of  that  country  as  he  is,  but 
there  are  reasons  why  I  love  it.  I  think  Charles 
will  never  be  quite  happy  until  he  goes  there  to  live. 

255 


RECORD  NO.  S3 


He  remembers  all  of  the  beautiful  and  pleasant 
things,  while  I  can  remember  only  the  sorrows  of 
our  life  there.  I  went  there  as  a  bride  and  I  was 
very,  very  happy  for  a  while.  But  my  husband  was 
ill  and  I  lost  two  children  there  and  my  own  health 
was  wretched  and  I  have  never  felt  that  I  could  go 
back." 

Amelie  talked  of  her  own  childhood  and  they 
discussed  things  of  mutual  interest. 

Before  they  had  realized  it  a  late  Summer  storm 
had  come  up  and  high  wind  and  angry  flashes  of 
lightning  forced  them  to  leave  the  pleasant  porch  to 
go  inside.  The  Professor  turned  on  a  softly  shaded 
light  and  lit  a  cheery  wood  fire  under  the  wide  mantel 
in  the  cheerful  living-room.  It  all  seemed  so  cozy 
and  delightful,  that  the  spell  of  it  seemed  to  fall 
over  all  three.  Even  Mrs.  Marville  seemed  to  have 
been  caught  in  the  meshes  of  a  net  of  dreams,  and 
conversation  lagged. 

Amelie  gave  herself  up  to  the  deliciousness  of  the 
moment  and  the  Professor  reveled  in  the  picture  she 
made  among  the  cushions  in  his  own  favorite  chair. 

Then,  by  the  rosy  light  of  the  leaping  fire,  the 
old  lady  caught  sight  of  the  pin  at  the  girl's  throat. 

"What  an  exquisite  miniature!"  she  exclaimed, 
looking  intently  at  the  sweet  face  of  Amelie's  little 
French  grandmother. 

256 


MEMORIES  AND  A  STORM 

"It  is  really  beautiful,"  she  said,  always  glad  to 
have  her  treasure  appreciated.  "I  prize  it  very 
highly  indeed  as  it  is  one  of  the  very  few  of  my 
mother's  treasures  that  I  have.  The  old  home  was 
burned  during  the  War  and  very  little  was  saved. 
A  few  of  the  portraits  and  a  few  pieces  of  furni- 
ture were  secreted  in  a  negro  cabin  when  they 
heard  the  soldiers  coming — the  Yankees,  as  they 
called  them.  All  of  these  I  have  down  in  my  little 
home  in  Kentucky.  This  miniature  of  her  mother 
my  own  mother  secreted  about  her  person,  for  she 
dearly  loved  it." 

She  had  unpinned  the  miniature  and  passed  it  to 
Mrs.  Marville  who  was  regarding  it  admiringly. 

"A  beautiful  face,"  she  said  as  if  almost  to  her- 
self. "There  is  that  marvelous  charm — that  win- 
someness,  that  magnetism  even  in  a  pictured  face 
that  has  always  made  you  Frenchwomen  so  fascinat- 
ing. You  all  have  it.  The  evenness  of  features 
may  be  lacking,  the  coloring  may  be  deficient,  but  al- 
ways there  is  that  mysterious,  indefinable  charm  that 
is  far  more  attractive  in  a  woman  than  any  mere 
physical  beauty  could  be.  But  in  this  face  there  is 
charm  and  beauty,  too."  Mrs.  Marville  mused  and 
still  she  looked  intently  at  the  picture. 

After  a  few  moments  she  broke  the  silence  with  a 
little  hard  laugh.  "I  was  forgetting,"  she  said. 

257 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"Somehow  this  face  takes  me  back  across  the  years. 
It  makes  me  think  of  Louisiana,  too." 

Amelie  took  the  pin  and  put  it  back  in  the  lace  at 
her  throat  and  still  Mrs.  Marville  looked  at  it. 

"There  is  something  in  that  face,"  and  she 
glanced  from  the  miniature  to  the  smiling  face  above 
it,  "and  in  your  face,  too,  Miss  Trent,  that  reminds 
me  of  another  face  that  I  used  to  think  about  a 
great  deal.  It  was  the  face  of  a  little  Frenchwoman 
also,  and  she,  too,  lived  down  in  Louisiana. 

"My  son,  won't  you  go  upstairs  and  look  in  the 
old  leather  trunk  in  the  attic  and  bring  down  that 
old  writing-desk  of  mine?  I  do  not  know  why,  but 
there  is  something  about  this  little  woman  that  stirs 
memories  very  strangely.  Not  since  those  days  in 
Louisiana  that  you  talk  so  much  about  have  I  seen 
a  little  Frenchwoman  with  a  dream  in  her  eyes.  How 
it  all  comes  back  to  me !"  The  blue  eyes  grew  very 
dim  and  the  voice  was  husky.  Far  away,  past  the 
lights  and  the  shadows,  she  was  looking  to  where 
her  dreams  had  died  in  the  long  ago. 

The  Professor  went  softly  up  the  stairs  and  was 
gone  a  long,  long  time. 

Mrs.  Marville  dreamed  on  and  Amelie  did  not 
speak  for  some  time. 

"Men  are  so  helpless,"  finally  came  from  the 
weary  dreamer.  "Miss  Trent,  would  it  be  asking 

258 


MEMORIES  AND  A  STORM 

too  much  of  you  to  go  and  see  if  you  could  help 
Charles  out  ?  I  don't  know  why  I  feel  this  way  about 
you — I  cannot  realize  that  you  are  a  stranger  to 
us.  My  companion,  Mrs.  Barnes,  always  goes  out 
on  Sunday  evenings  and  I  am  so  helpless,  too." 

Amelie  felt  a  little  embarrassed  and  conscious, 
but  she  expressed  only  pleasure,  and  when  she  was 
nearly  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  she  called  to  him. 

"May  I  come  up?  Your  mother  insisted  that  I 
should.  Can  I  be  of  any  help  to  you?" 

The  Professor  was  on  his  knees  before  the  old 
leather  trunk  in  the  gray  twilight  of  the  room. 

"Oh,  yes,  do  come,"  he  said.  "I  know  mother  is 
impatient,  but  when  I  see  these  old  things  I  forget 
everything  else.  I  had  to  stop  and  look  at  this  old 
daguerreotype  of  my  father.  It  was  taken  while  he 
was  in  prison  in  Ohio,"  and  he  handed  the  faded 
picture  to  her. 

Amelie  took  it  to  the  window  and  scanned  it  by 
the  fast  fading  light.  She  saw  the  boyish  face  of  a 
soldier  in  which  she  fancied  she  could  trace  some- 
thing of  the  features  of  the  Professor. 

The  Professor  joined  her  and  looked  with  her 
into  the  youthful  face  in  the  picture.  Under  his  arm 
he  held  the  old  writing-desk — one  that  reminded 
Amelie  of  another  little  old-fashioned  one  down  in 

Kentucky. 

259 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"I  think  I'll  take  that  picture  and  this  one  and 
this  little  note  out,"  he  said,  whispering.  "Mother 
is  not  strong  and  these  things  sadden  her.  Back 
of  all  there  is  a  little  romance,  a  little  love  story, 
and  to  recall  it  makes  her  sad  for  days.  She  never 
talked  about  it  much,  but  I  always  knew  that  when 
my  father  was  a  soldier  boy  in  a  Northern  prison 
he  had  a  sweetheart  down  in  Louisiana.  Believing 
her  dead  he  would  not  return  South  after  the  War, 
but  in  course  of  time  he  married  my  mother.  It 
was  some  years  later  that  he  learned  that  his  little 
French  sweetheart  was  still  alive  and  that  she,  too, 
believing  him  dead,  had  married.  My  mother  knew 
the  story  and  she  always  kept  with  reverence  and 
love  these  little  mementoes.  But  it  took  all  of  the 
joyousness  out  of  her  life  and  more  than  once,  when 
she  has  spoken  of  it,  she  has  told  me  that  my  father's 
heart  was  with  his  little  French  sweetheart  down  in 
Louisiana.  He  was  a  prince  and  a  gentleman  and 
so  no  one  ever  knew  except — her." 

Amelie  took  the  other  picture  in  her  hand.  She 
reverently  unfolded  the  yellow  tissue-paper  in  which 
it  was  wrapped  and  looked  closely  into  the  features. 

"Is  the  little  note  from  her?"  she  asked  in  low, 
trembling  tones. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "It  is  only  a  few  lines  and  it  is 
not  especially  personal."  He  opened  the  yel- 

260 


MEMORIES  AND  A  STORM 

low  sheet,  and  as  they  bent  their  heads  together  in 
the  dying  light  of  that  Autumn  evening  she  came  to 
know  that  those  lines  had  been  written  by  her  own 
dear  little  mother,  whose  pure  sweet  face  looked  at 
her  from  the  picture  she  held  in  her  hand. 

She  pressed  the  faded  note  to  her  lips,  and 
bending  down  he  saw  that  there  were  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

"What  is  it — what  is  the  matter?"  he  said  anx- 
iously and  very  tenderly. 

"Put  them  away,"  she  said,  "and  let  us  go  back 
to  her.  It  is  very,  very  strange — far  stranger  than 
anything  I  ever  knew,  but  those  lines  were  written 
by  my  own  dear  little  French  mother,  and  this  is 
her  face.  She  was  your  father's  Louisiana  sweet- 
heart" 

The  Professor  was  silent  in  the  deepening 
shadows  of  the  room.  Amelie  looked  but  she  could 
not  see  his  face.  After  a  moment  he  spoke,  very 
softly. 

"Shall  we  tell  her?"  he  asked. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  not,"  she  answered,  "not 
now."  And  they  went  together  to  the  old  dreamer 
sitting  in  silence  down  among  the  evening  shadows. 

"Take  me  nearer  the  light,  Charles,"  she  said, 
as  she  reached  out  her  trembling  hands  for  the  little 
writing-desk.  "Now  that  you  have  stirred  up  the 

261 


RECORD  NO.  33 


ashes  I  must  rake  among  them  for  the  relics  of  my 
treasures  once  more." 

Then  they  listened  to  her  tell  the  stories  as  she 
took  out  one  little  memento  after  another,  and  they 
followed  her  lead  along  the  backward  trail  to  the 
days  of  her  young  married  life  in  Louisiana.  As 
the  old  lady  talked  she  recalled  many  incidents  that 
brought  memories  to  Amelie  of  things  her  mother 
had  told  her,  and  she  pieced  out  of  the  fragments 
more  than  one  picture  that  had  heretofore  been  in- 
complete. 

Then  they  saw  that  she  was  weary  and  they  took 
the  precious  mementoes  from  her  slender  hands  and 
made  her  comfortable  among  the  pillows  of  her 
chair. 

"Mother,  if  you  will  allow  me  I  should  like  to 
have  Miss  Trent  see  my  little  den — can  you  spare 
her  for  a  while?"  said  the  Professor,  and  the  old 
lady  gave  smiling  assent. 

"Miss  Trent,  Charles  is  like  a  schoolboy  out  here. 
We  lived  in  apartments  so  long  that  he  feels  like  a 
bird  out  of  a  cage.  You  must  excuse  his  over- 
enthusiasm." 

"I  do  not  blame  him,"  returned  Amelie,  as  she 
followed  her  Professor  through  the  library  and  up 
the  stairway. 

At  the  top  was  his  own  little  study,  and  he  took 
262 


MEMORIES  AND  A  STORM 

her  in  and  showed  her  his  trophies  and  his  souvenirs 
and  his  pictures  and  his  books.  It  was  indeed  a 
delightful  room,  just  a  little  more  personal  and 
cheerful  and  arranged  with  a  trifle  more  care  than 
that  other  room  of  his  in  which  she  had  stood  for 
those  delicious  moments  two  days  before.  But  now 
he  was  with  her  and  she  gave  her  senses  up  to  the 
delight  of  it  all  and  was  soon  absorbed  in  the  things 
he  was  telling  her. 

"It  is  very  hard  indeed,"  he  was  saying,  "when 
one  is  working  all  day  to  do  anything  serious  outside 
of  the  daily  grind.  Of  course,  when  I  come  home 
in  the  evening  mother  needs  me  and  I  must  give  her 
some  of  my  time  and  attention.  And  then  I  am 
literally  tired  out.  But  this  past  year  I  have  been 
able  to  do  some  translation  work  which,  if  I  can 
finish  it,  will  mean  a  great  deal  to  me."  And  Amelie 
expressed  an  interest  and  was  happy  over  the  things 
he  told  her  of  his  work. 

"If  I  could  only  get  one  year  off  from  routine 
work,"  he  said,  "I  could  finish  this  work.  That 
was  why  I  went  abroad.  I  did  not  go  for  pleasure,  I 
could  not  have  done  that,  and  I  had  to  hurry  back 
on  mother's  account." 

"How  much  more  interesting  this  work  must  be 
than  that  of  making  those  records,"  she  said,  always 
glad  of  a  chance  to  speak  of  a  subject  in  which  she 

263 


RECORD  NO.  33 


had  lost  none  of  her  interest  and  thinking  of  the 
little  black  record  which,  of  course,  was  safely  tucked 
away  in  her  bag  at  that  very  moment.  Since  the  dis- 
tressing accident  in  Mr.  Lawrence's  office  she  had 
been  far  more  careful  of  it. 

"Oh,  those  records  are  very  tiresome,"  he  said. 
"I  dread  to  go  back  to  them.  I  should  much  pre- 
fer to  stay  here  and  work  over  my  translation. 
What  a  pity  I  couldn't  win  that  five  thousand 
dollars !  Then  I  could  take  that  much  needed  year 
and  finish  up  my  work.  But  these  are  only  idle 
dreams." 

"Have  you  any  theory  about  that  stray  record?" 
she  asked.  "What  do  you  think  about  it?" 

"It  really  is  very  mysterious,"  he  said  leaning  back 
in  his  big  leather  chair,  and  a  serious  look  came  into 
his  face.  "I  simply  cannot  fathom  it.  I  was  in  to 
see  Mr.  Channing  yesterday  and  he  is  greatly  wor- 
ried over  it.  As  for  Mr.  Chalmers  he  is  almost 
crazy." 

Amelie  was  beginning  to  feel  guilty  and  uncom- 
fortable and  she  was  wondering  if  she  could  pos- 
sibly tell  the  Professor  the  truth  and  if  the  truth 
would  help  in  the  least  to  solve  a  mystery  that  was 
causing  so  much  trouble. 

"Mr.  Channing  is  quite  positive  that  he  gave  Mr. 
Chalmers  the  record  with  his  own  words  upon  it 

264 


MEMORIES  AND  A  STORM 

and  that  the  language  records  were  all  checked  off 
properly.  They  have  traced  the  whole  transaction 
as  far  back  as  possible  and  there  is  absolutely  no 
clue.  Mr.  Channing  had  thought  that  perhaps  one 
of  the  checkers  had  taken  the  record  and  had  sub- 
stituted another  for  it.  But  in  this  case  the  reward 
would  doubtless  tempt  the  one  who  had  it.  It  has 
certainly  given  them  a  great  deal  of  concern  and  I 
should  like  very  much  indeed  to  see  them  locate  the 
missing  record." 

"I  suppose  to  receive  the  reward  one  would  have 
to  return  the  record — is  that  it?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  think  the  last  offer  made  by  Mr.  Chal- 
mers is  to  anyone  who  will  give  any  clue  to  the  miss- 
ing record." 

Amelie  started.  Could  it  be  possible  that  she 
could  capture  that  coveted  reward  after  all?  Were 
they  right  in  their  suspicions  that  she  was  withhold- 
ing valuable  information?  If  the  Professor  knew 
her  secret,  could  he  not  solve  the  mystery,  and  gain 
the  reward?  She  knew  that  he  thought  he  had  the 
record  that  she  had.  Did  he  have  any  record  at  all? 
If  so,  what  record  was  it?  All  these  thoughts  flew 
by  in  rapid  succession  and  she  was  filled  with  sup- 
pressed excitement.  She  had  done  wrong  to  keep 
her  secret  from  him  so  long.  How  could  she  ever 
make  him  understand?  What  would  he  think  of 

265 


RECORD  NO.  33 


her?  And  still,  it  was  not  yet  too  late.  She  must 
tell  him. 

She  thought  of  the  record — her  precious  record 
in  her  bag  at  that  very  moment,  and  from  which  she 
had  never  been  separated  since  that  wonderful  night 
upon  which  she  had  first  heard  it.  She  looked  at  the 
attractive  face  of  her  French  Professor  and  then  at 
his  manuscripts  lying  on  the  desk. 

"I  understood  from  Mr.  Channing  yesterday," 
he  said,  "that  Mr.  Chalmers  was  going  to  increase 
the  reward  to  $10,000." 

Now  she  knew  that  she  could  keep  silent  no  longer 
— that  she  was  deceiving  one  who  had  befriended 
her,  and  that  the  deception  she  was  practicing 
was  causing  other  people  much  trouble.  She  had 
never  before  fully  realized  what  her  silence  concern- 
ing this  record  really  meant. 

The  Professor  looked  at  her  a  little  curiously, 
for  again  he  saw  the  startled,  pained  look  in  her 
fair  face  that  had  seemed  to  him  so  marvelously 
sweet  and  beautiful  all  day. 

"Professor  Marville,"  she  began,  and  something 
in  her  tone  made  him  sit  up  and  lean  forward  to 
hear  what  she  was  about  to  say.  "I  don't  know  what 
you  will  think,  when  I  tell  you " 

"Professor,  tea  is  served,"  and  the  cold,  formal 
voice  of  the  maid  in  the  doorway  surprised  them. 

266 


MEMORIES  AND  A  STORM 

She  stood  aside  and  waited  for  them  to  pass,  and 
there  seemed  nothing  left  for  them  to  do  but  to 
go  down. 

Things  did  not  seem  so  natural  and  happy  between 
them  after  that.  There  was  a  change  that  both  felt 
but  neither  understood,  and  conversation  at  the  tea- 
table  lagged  somewhat,  though  Mrs.  Marville  was 
quite  ready  to  chat  again  after  her  few  moments 
of  relaxation  and  rest. 

The  sound  of  the  telephone  bell  startled  them,  so 
loudly  and  so  long  did  it  ring;  and  when  the  Profes- 
sor joined  them  after  answering  it  he  was  extremely 
grave  and  evidently  troubled. 

"This  is  really  too  bad,"  he  said,  "it  seems  ab- 
solutely necessary  for  me  to  go  to  town." 

"To  town!"  exclaimed  his  mother.  "Why, 
Charles,  what  do  you  mean?  You  simply  can't;  it  is 
storming;  Miss  Trent  is  our  guest.  Why,  how  can 
you?" 

"Oh,  please  do  not  let  my  being  here  interfere," 
put  in  Amelie  hastily.  "I  can  go  back  now  with 
you — really,  it  would  make  me  very  unhappy  to 
think  you  would  let  me  inconvenience  you." 

"But  in  this  pouring  rain!  I  couldn't  think  of 
letting  you  go,  child,"  said  the  old  lady.  "Charles, 
is  it  so  urgent;  can't  it  wait  until  morning?  This  is 
the  Sabbath  day  and  it  is  not  the  day  for  business." 

267 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"I  said  all  I  could,  mother,  to  convince  Mr.  Shel- 
ton  that  it  is  practically  impossible  for  me  to  come. 
But  he  is  a  lawyer,  you  know,  a  man  of  large  af- 
fairs. He  assures  me  that  he  never  thinks  of  busi- 
ness himself  on  Sunday  unless  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary, and  that  he  would  not  think  of  asking  me  to 
come  except  for  the  importance  of  the  matter  and 
the  need  for  haste."  He  took  out  his  watch.  "I 
can  catch  the  5  146  train,  and  that  would  put  me 
uptown  at  about  seven  o'clock.  If  I  could  get  away 
in  an  hour  I  could  get  back  home  in  time  to  take 
Miss  Trent  to  the  10:45  train  if  that  would  not  be 
too  late  for  her."  And  for  the  first  time  since  they 
left  his  study  his  eyes  sought  hers. 

Mrs.  Marville  did  not  give  her  time  to  reply. 

"It's  absurd  for  Miss  Trent  to  think  of  going 
back  to  the  city  to-night.  She  must  stay  all  night. 
The  weather  is  atrocious  and  there  is  no  necessity 
for  it.  Besides,  while  I'm  not  afraid,  I  do  not  like 
to  stay  alone  on  a  night  like  this." 

Amelie  demurred.  It  all  seemed  so  sudden,  so 
strange.  As  suddenly  as  the  storm  seemed  to  break 
over  the  fairness  of  that  Autumn  afternoon,  did  this 
storm  seem  to  destroy  the  peace  that  seemed  to  have 
rested  over  her  spirit  that  memorable  day.  In  two 
minutes  more,  had  that  maid  not  appeared  in  the 
doorway,  the  Professor  would  have  known  at  least 

268 


MEMORIES  AND  A  STORM 

part  of  her  secret.  And  now,  something  else  had 
happened.  Something  that  she  did  not  understand. 
Something  that  seemed  to  trouble  him.  Something 
that  she  knew,  in  a  very  vague  way,  was  connected 
with  herself. 

She  felt  powerless  before  the  sweep  of  circum- 
stance that  was  carrying  her  on.  She  said  she  would 
stay.  There  seemed  nothing  else  left  for  her  to  do. 
She  heard  the  Professor  at  the  'phone  ordering  a 
cab.  She  was  conscious  of  the  lashing  of  the  wind 
among  the  trees.  The  fire  he  had  lit  on  the  hearth 
was  dead.  And  he  bent  his  head  and  went  out  into 
the  storm. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   PROFESSOR  FINDS  A   CLUE 

BY   ten   o'clock   the   wild   fury   of   the   storm 
had  abated  and  the  rain  was   falling  dis- 
mally and  steadily.     Mrs.   Marville  grew 
impatient. 

"This  is  unbearable,"  she  said,  a  little  pettishly, 
"for  Charles  to  be  kept  so  long.  The  10:10  train 
is  in  and  it  will  be  nearly  an  hour  before  he  can 
be  here  now."  Then,  putting  her  wrinkled  hand  on 
the  soft  brown  head  that  bent  near  her,  she  added, 
more  softly,  "How  sweet  and  patient  you  have  been! 
How  thankful  I  am  to  have  had  you!  It  has  all 
seemed  like  a  breath,  a  real  breath  of  the  dear,  sad 
past  to  me.  You  have  been  patient,  child,  to  listen 
to  my  ramblings,  and  I  have  recalled  many  things  I 
had  not  thought  of  for  years.  But  it  is  asking  too 
much  to  keep  you  up  like  this." 

Amelie  saw  that  she  was  growing  weary  and  rest- 
less and  she  said  what  she  could  to  soothe  and  en- 
courage her. 

270 


THE  PROFESSOR  FINDS  A  CLUE 

"If  it  were  not  for  letting  Charles  in,"  she  said 
finally,  "we  could  go  to  bed.  But  he  let  Mrs.  Barnes 
have  his  key  last  night  and  she  forgot  to  return  it." 

"Why,  I  can  wait  for  him,"  said  Amelie,  timidly, 
but  joyous  lights  were  shining  in  her  eyes  for  some- 
thing in  the  thought  more  than  pleased  her.  And 
when  Mrs.  Marville  protested  that  this  would  be 
asking  too  much  of  her,  she  argued  and  persuaded 
until  finally  it  was  settled. 

After  she  had  assisted  her  hostess  to  her  room, 
Amelie  came  back  again  to  his  big  chair  with  its  in- 
viting pillows  and  by  the  dead  fire  his  own  hands 
had  kindled,  she  sat  and  thought  things  out  in  her 
old  practical,  sensible  way. 

She  had  made  up  her  mind  quite  fully  to  tell  him 
that  she  had  his  record,  or  its  counterpart,  and  she 
watched  the  clock  and  listened,  breathlessly  for  the 
sound  of  his  step.  Under  the  cushions  of  her  chair 
she  had  tucked  away  her  bag  containing  her  precious 
record,  so  that  she  could  have  it  ready  to  show  to 

him. 

There  was  something  so  indescribably  sweet  in  sit- 
ting here  in  his  own  chair,  and  wailing  for  him  to 
come  1  To-night  she  was,  by  her  own  hand,  to  touch 
the  multicolored  bubble  of  her  fancy;  she  was  going 
to  see  it  vanish  into  nothingness,  right  before  her 
eyes  in  this  very  room;  to-morrow,  she  was  going 

271 


RECORD  NO.  33 


back — back  to  feed  her  starving  soul  on  memories 
of  hours  such  as  this  one  she  was  now  living. 

And  when  at  last,  with  fast  beating  heart,  she  did 
open  the  door  for  him,  he  smiled  into  her  eyes  with  a 
sad,  new  questioning — was  it  a  doubting? — smile. 
And  she  knew  that  in  all  the  years  of  her  life  she 
would  remember  him  as  he  looked  then,  outlined 
against  the  storm,  and  standing  on  the  threshold  of 
that  dear  room  where  she  had  watched  the  fire 
lighted  by  his  hand  turn  to  dead  ashes — that  room 
in  which  she  was  to  relinquish  her  hold  on  what  even 
now  seemed  but  the  shadow  of  a  dream. 

"How  very,  very  good  of  you,"  he  said  gratefully, 
as  he  shook  the  rain  from  his  hat  and  coat.  "Poor 
mother,  she  must  have  grown  tired  and  you  volun- 
teered to  wait,  I  know.  It  only  occurred  to  me  after 
I  got  off  the  train  that  I  had  no  key.  How  can  I 
ever  apologize  enough  for  causing  you  so  much 
trouble."  Amelie  saw  him  shiver  slightly. 

"Is  it  cold?"  she  asked. 

"Not  cold,"  he  answered,  "but  just  chilly.  Let  me 
see  if  there  are  any  sparks  left  of  the  fire  that  was 
so  cheerful  and  splendid  only  a  few  hours  ago." 
And  she  watched  him  coax  back  the  glow  into  the 
coals  she  thought  were  dead.  Then  he  threw  on 
some  bits  of  wood  and  flames,  reluctant  at  first,  be- 
gan to  light  the  room  with  a  dull,  weird  glow. 

272 


THE  PROFESSOR  FINDS  A  CLUE 

"I  know  it  is  late,"  she  began,  "but  one  reason  I 
was  so  glad  to  stay  up  and  let  you  in  was  that  I  had 
something  to  tell  you.  I  am  going  to  make  a  con- 
fession to  you.  But  before  I  make  it  you  must  make 
me  a  promise." 

"A  confession!" 

She  thought  the  Professor  grew  white  in  the  flick- 
ering firelight,  and  an  expression  of  hardness,  per- 
haps doubt,  changed  his  face  and  half-frightened 
her.  She  little  dreamed  that,  since  she  had  seen  him 
a  few  hours  ago,  he  had  heard  the  story  of  the  acci- 
dent in  Mr.  Lawrence's  office,  nor  did  she  know  that 
they  had  tempted  him  and  teased  him  and  taunted 
him  with  their  new  evidence.  And  she  did  not  know 
either  that  through  it  all  he  had  been  immovable, 
sphinx-like  in  his  attitude  of  cold  indifference  and 
unbelief  in  their  theories  and  opinions  concerning 
her. 

More  than  once  since  he  had  left  Mr.  Lawrence's 
office  an  hour  and  a  half  ago,  he  had  told  himself 
that  his  faith  in  her  was  based  on  intuitive  knowl- 
edge and  not  on  reason. 

And  now  this — this  confession — what  was  it  to 
be?  Could  he  then  be  mistaken?  Had  he  been  a 
blind  fool,  and  had  they  been  right?  But  he  shut 
such  thoughts  away,  he  refused  to  take  them  into 
his  consciousness.  He  only  looked  at  her,  there  with 

273 


RECORD  NO.  33 


the  firelight  on  her  pretty  face — only  looked  at  her, 
and  waited. 

She  waited,  too.  She  felt  her  courage  waver 
a  little.  He  was  so  silent,  so  cold,  so  unresponsive. 
Had  the  faith  he  had  lighted  himself,  without  her 
assistance,  died  away  too  and  fallen  into  gray 
ashes?  And  was  she  now  about  to  quench  what 
of  warmth  and  smoldering  life  there  was  left  in  the 
light  of  this  faith?  Seeing  that  she  hesitated,  he 
said,  in  a  strained,  half-hearted  way: 

"A  confession?  I  am  quite  sure  that  you  have 
no  secrets  that  should  not  be  secrets.  And  the  prom- 
ise— what  is  it  you  wish  me  to  promise?" 

"I  want  you  to  promise  me,"  she  began,  and 
her  voice,  though  low  and  very  serious,  was  quite 
steady  now,  "that  if  what  I  shall  tell  you  will  fur- 
nish any  clue  to  the  solution  of  the  mystery  that 
you  will  never  mention  my  name  in  connection 
with  it." 

"Why,  Miss  Trent,  you  startle  me,"  he  said,  and 
she  saw  something  of  the  look  of  inquiry  and  doubt 
that  had  settled  on  his  face  the  night  in  the  hotel  din- 
ing-room. 

"I  promise  that  I  shall  do  nothing  without  your 
full  permission  and  consent,"  he  said,  "but,"  and  his 
face  went  very  serious  again  and  he  spoke  slowly 

and  very  gently,  "surely  it  cannot  be  that  Mr.  Chal- 

274 


THE  PROFESSOR  FINDS  A  CLUE 

mers  was  right,  after  all,  in  his  supposition  that 
you  had  come  to  New  York  to  claim  the  reward?" 

"Most  assuredly  he  was  not  right,  Professor  Mar- 
ville,"  she  said  frankly.  "When  I  came  to  New 
York,  as  I  told  you,  I  had  heard  nothing  of  the  re- 
ward, and  when  I  went  into  the  office  of  Mr.  Law- 
rence Friday  morning  I  knew  nothing  of  the  reward. 
I  have  been  perfectly  truthful  about  that.  And  I 
assure  you  that  I  have  not  the  scientific  record  and 
that  I  knew  nothing  of  its  existence  until  after  I  came 
to  New  York.  Please  believe  me  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  know  no  more  about  where  that  record  is  than 
Mr.  Chalmers  does."  The  Professor  sighed  deeply 
and  he  felt  immensely  relieved,  if  still  greatly  per- 
plexed. 

"But,"  she  continued,  "I  am  afraid  I  have  prac- 
ticed a  deception  that  has  meant  trouble  for  others 
and  I  am  deeply  sorry.  I  feel  to-night  that  I  have 
done  something  dreadful." 

"What  is  it,  Miss  Trent?  Do  tell  me— I  am 
sure  you  have  done  nothing  wrong." 

"Professor  Marville,"  she  said,  "do  you  remem- 
ber how  Lesson  No.  33  in  the  French  Manual  be- 
gins?" 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  it  begins,  'My  sister 
drinks  coffee,  and  I  drink  tea,'  but  I  can  be  sure." 
Excusing  himself,  he  went  hastily  but  quietly  up  to 

275 


RECORD  NO.  33 


his  study,  and  when  he  returned  he  had  in  his  hand 
a  little  tin  box — the  counterpart  of  her  own — and 
in  the  other  he  had  a  familiar  little  blue  envelope, 
marked  "Record  No.  33." 

She  helped  him  adjust  the  little  machine  on  the 
table.  He  slipped  the  record  on  the  machine  and 
pushed  the  lever. 

Strange,  strange  experience !  There  was  the  same 
whirring  and  buzzing,  the  same  little  click  of  the 
lever  and  the  marvelous  little  point  began  to  do  its 
work. 

"My  sister  drinks  coffee  and  I  drink  tea "  the 

voice  was  saying  in  his  perfect  French. 

"Yes,  that  is  it,"  she  said,  as  he  shut  off  the  lever. 
Then  she  said  quite  sweetly, 

"Record  No.  33  with  my  machine  does  not  begin 
that  way." 

"Miss  Trent!  You  cannot  mean  that  you  have 
indeed  the  missing  record.  I  cannot  believe  it !  You 
said  you  had  not.  Please  explain.  Please  tell  me 
what  you  mean." 

"I  have  not  the  missing  record,"  she  said,  smiling, 
"but  I  have  a  missing  record." 

Very  deliberately  and  with  half  a  smile  on  her 
pretty  face  she  took  from  the  bag  a  record,  and  he 
watched  her  with  breathless  interest  while  she  ad- 
justed it,  just  as  she  had  done  many  and  many  a 

276 


THE  PROFESSOR  FINDS  A  CLUE 

time  down  in  her  little  pink-and-white  sitting-room 
when  there  was  no  one  to  watch  her. 

The  bag,  the  black  record,  surely  they  were  the 
same  he  had  heard  so  vividly  described  in  Mr.  Law- 
rence's office  that  very  evening  when  learned  lawyers 
were  discussing  her — this  fair,  sweet  girl  standing 
there  in  the  shadows  of  his  own  room — with  Mr. 
Lawrence,  Mr.  Chalmers,  Mr.  Channing  and  him- 
self. 

And  the  record — yes,  there  it  was,  the  very  same. 
An  inexplicable  realization  of  the  ridiculousness  of 
the  whole  thing  took  possession  of  him  as  he  watched 
her  adjust  the  record.  He  heard  again  the  opinion 
of  the  learned  lawyers,  the  "evidence"  of  Mr.  Chal- 
mers and  Mr.  Lawrence,  the  fears  of  Mr.  Channing. 
And  then  he  saw  this  girl,  innocent  and  lovely,  stand- 
ing there  in  the  glow  of  the  firelight.  And  still,  was 
she  not  about  to  make  a  confession?  Had  she  not 
admitted  that  she  had  done  wrong,  that  she  had 
practiced  deception? 

But  in  those  hazy  moments  of  waiting  he  knew 
that  the  clouds  of  doubt  that  darkened  his  inner 
vision  at  times  had  yet  a  silver  lining — the  shining 
silver  of  his  unshakable  faith. 

This  time  it  was  she  who  pushed  the  lever.  On  his 
face  was  an  expression  of  intense  interest,  and,  as 
if  he  feared  to  miss  one  thing  on  that  record,  he 

277 


RECORD  NO.  S3 


dropped  on  his  knees  beside  her.  She  could  hear 
his  quick  breathing.  She  could  almost  hear  the  beat 
of  his  heart. 

No  word  was  spoken  between  them  and  it  seemed 
minutes  before  the  little  needle  began  to  do  its  work. 
And  then, 

"I  am  'very,  very  tired  of  talking  to  a  machine — 
a  cold,  heartless,  unresponsive  machine  day  after 
day,  and  week  after  week " 

The  Professor  jumped  to  his  feet  and  held  his 
breath. 

Amelie  smiled  sweetly  and  the  little  machine  was 
talking  on, 

"1  want  to  scent  the  magnolias  and  the  jessamine 
and  the  roses — to  see  the  glint  of  the  Southern  sun 

on  Southern  waters " 

The  Professor  was  motionless.  He  stood  there 
and  looked  at  her  in  sheer  amazement  and  gradu- 
ally a  smile  spread  over  his  face.  Meanwhile  the 
little  needle  sped  on,  and  he  heard  his  own  voice, 

"I  know  that  somewhere  in  that  dear  Southern 
land  there  is  a  sweet,  gentle  woman  with  a  dream  In 
her  eyes  and  music  in  her  voice  and  goodness  in  her 
soul  who  could  bring  to  me  the  only  happiness  I 
crave — home  and  love." 

Then  there  was  the  break  and  the  machine  was 
mute  again. 

278 


THE  PROFESSOR  FINDS  A  CLUE 

The  Professor  dropped  limply  into  a  chair. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  said,  in  a  dazed  sort 
of  way.  "How  could  it  have  happened?"  Then 
he  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  as  if  in  deep- 
est thought  before  he  went  on.  "Channing  gave  me 
my  record  the  day  before  he  made  the  one  for 
Chalmers;  I  am  almost  sure  of  that.  I  talked  for 
two  or  three.  Only  one  was  supposed  to  be  fin- 
ished. Now  I  have  my  record." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  have?"  she  interrupted. 

"Yes,  almost  sure,"  he  returned.  "I  think  I  re- 
member seeing  it  just  before  I  went  to  Europe.  Now, 
Channing  could  easily  have  made  a  record  from  one 
of  those  wax  plates  of  mine  instead  of  from  that  he 
intended  for  Mr.  Chalmers.  Evidently,  he  made 
two  of  those  records  instead  of  one.  And  I  am  con- 
vinced that  the  wax  plate  of  Mr.  Chalmers'  record 
was  destroyed.  That  must  be  the  way  it  all  hap- 
pened. But  why" — the  Professor  hesitated — "why 
did  you  not  say  you  had  this  one?  Why  have  you 
kept  it  such  a  secret?  Why  have  you  allowed  all 
this  suspicion  to  rest  on  you  when  you  were  wholly 
innocent?" 

He  was  thinking  of  the  learned  lawyers  who  oc- 
cupied their  Sabbath  in  trying  to  ferret  out  some 
legal  grounds  for  action  against  her — legal  action 
against  this  girl  standing  there  smiling  at  him. 

279 


RECORD  NO.  33 


Amelie  had  a  sudden,  rapturous  feeling  of  perfect 
joy.  And  still  she  knew  that  she  could  not,  that  she 
must  not  answer  the  questions  he  had  asked  her.  She 
smiled  and  blushed  a  deeper  pink  as  she  busied  her- 
self taking  the  record  from  the  machine.  Then  as 
she  was  putting  it  in  the  envelope,  she  said  despair- 
ingly: "Oh,  dear,  dear  me!  I  suppose  they 
thought,  and  still  think  I  have  the  missing  record." 
She  spoke  as  if  to  herself,  and  putting  her  hand  to 
her  burning  cheek,  she  fell  into  deep  thought,  for- 
getting that  she  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  Pro- 
fessor. 

He  watched  her  perplexity  in  silence  and  after 
a  moment  she  looked  up  at  him  and  dismay  and  ex- 
citement were  pictured  in  her  face. 

He  said  very  gently,  "Naturally  they  do  think 


"Then  they  told  you,  that  was  what  they  sent  for 
you  for — to  tell  you  that  I  was  a  liar  and  a  thief — 
and  here  I  was  a  guest  in  your  home !" 

"But  you  are  not,"  he  said,  just  as  tenderly  as  he 
dared.  "You  are  innocent  just  as  I  have  always  said 
and  believed  you  were.  But  you  must  let  me  tell 
them  in  order  to  satisfy  them,  and  then  you  must 
tell  me  why " 

"It  is  getting  late,  what  will  your  mother  think  of 
me?  How  thoughtless,  how  inconsiderate  I  am,  to 

280 


THE  PROFESSOR  FINDS  A  CLUE 

have  kept  you  so  long!  Your  mother  showed  me 
my  room.  I  must  go.  Good  night,  and  don't  for- 
get your  promise." 

Half  in  earnest  and  half  in  coquetry  Amelie  said 
these  words  as  she  retreated  through  the  library  to- 
ward the  stairway.  She  knew  it  was  late,  far  too 
late,  for  her  to  be  talking  there  with  him,  but  she 
knew  also  that  she  had  told  him  all  he  must  know. 
Again  she  was  cheered  by  a  realization  that  he  at 
least  knew  that  she  was  innocent  and  that  somehow, 
now,  everything  would  be  right. 

He  had  turned  on  the  lights  for  her,  and  at  the 
stair  landing  she  looked  back.  A  radiant  smile  lit 
her  face,  and  in  the  flood  of  light  into  which  she 
had  stepped  from  the  shadows  of  the  room  he  saw  a 
wholly  new  beauty  in  her  lovely  face. 

She  could  see  him  only  dimly,  standing  there  in  the 
half-lit  room,  but  she  knew  that  he  was  smiling. 
"Good  night,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  SKELETON  IN  AMELIE's  CLOSET 

THE  dry  leaves  of  the  old  sycamore-tree  in 
Amelie's  little  cathedral  garden  rustled 
hoarsely  in  the  chill  October  breeze,  like  a 
death  rattle  in  the  throat  of  Summer.  A  moon- 
vine,  trailing  sluggishly  across  the  lattice  and  cur- 
taining the  window  of  her  pink-and-white  sitting- 
room,  flung  one  milk-white  blossom  that  had  lingered 
on  when  the  day  had  come,  deceived  by  the  cool 
Autumn  air.  Down  the  aisles  and  across  the  leaf- 
strewn  beds  no  flowers  bloomed,  and  the  cozy  nest 
of  soft  gray  moss  that  the  robins  had  woven  in  the 
old  sycamore-tree  was  forsaken  and  forgotten — on 
the  morning  of  her  return.  How  very  far  away 
from  her  dream  she  was!  Weeks  had  passed 
since  she  had  smiled  at  the  Professor  across  the 
breakfast  table  the  morning  after  she  had  made  her 
confession  to  him. 

The  rain  was  falling  in  great  white  sheets  that 
morning.     An  engagement  in  town  forced  him  to 

282 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET 

take  an  early  train,  and  she  was  persuaded  to  stay 
until  the  weather  should  be  more  favorable.  For 
the  circumstances  that  saved  her  from  another  con- 
versation with  him  she  was  grateful,  though  she  gave 
to  him  no  intimation  that  she  would  not  see  him 
again  that  day.  At  the  hotel  three  hours  later  she 
wrote  a  little  note  to  him  and  another  to  his  mother, 
in  which  she  attempted  to  make  plausible  excuses  for 
her  sudden  departure.  In  another  hour  she  was  on 
her  way  South. 

She  had  fought  the  whole  thing  out  with  her- 
self. She  had  realized  what  an  awful  thing  she 
had  done  in  coming  to  look  for  him.  She  had  tried 
to  imagine  what  he  would  have  thought  if  he  had 
known.  She  felt  that  she  had  forced  herself  and 
her  affairs  upon  his  attention  and  that,  being  the 
Southern  gentleman  that  he  was,  he  had  come  to  her 
rescue  because  he  had  found  out  that  she  was  being 
made  the  victim  of  a  joke,  and  because  he  thought 
her  stupid  and  ignorant. 

She  went  over  every  moment  that  she  had  spent 
with  him,  every  word  that  had  been  spoken  between 
them,  and  she  told  herself  that  not  in  any  single  in- 
stance had  he  taken  the  initiative  in  seeking  her. 
It  was  true,  he  had  asked  her  to  dine  with  him  that 
night,  but  even  that  was  to  relieve  her  of  an  em- 
barrassing engagement.  Had  he  been  left  to  his 

283 


RECORD  NO.  33 


own  wishes,  she  believed  that  he  would  not  have 
joined  the  dinner  party  the  evening  before,  for  he 
told  her  that  he  stayed  on  her  account.  She  knew 
that  on  both  occasions  he  had  acted  through  sympa- 
thy for  her.  It  was  true,  she  reflected,  that  he  had 
cordially  invited  her  to  his  own  home,  but  he  had 
said  his  mother  was  interested  to  see  her  because  she 
was  from  Louisiana;  and  again  she  could  not  be- 
lieve that  it  was  his  initiative  that  had  brought 
them  together.  Her  stay  at  his  home  came  about 
purely  by  accident  and  not  because  of  any  act  of 
his. 

She  saw  the  thing  in  the  large,  whereas  she  had 
heretofore  been  giving  her  attention  only  to  the  de- 
tails, and  she  was  ashamed  of  herself.  She  deter- 
mined to  leave  New  York  and  never  to  see  the  Pro- 
fessor again.  Once  more  she  told  herself  that  she 
had  not  tried  to  see  any  ending  to  her  wild  dream. 
Once  more  she  argued  with  herself  that  she  should 
be  more  than  satisfied,  now  that  she  had  really  seen 
her  Professor,  and  that  he  had  far  more  than  ful- 
filled the  ideal  she  had  conjured  up  of  him  in  her 
own  imagination.  Once  more  she  fed  her  hungry 
soul  on  the  moonshine  diet  of  memories,  and  still 
she  could  not  understand  why  her  spirit  languished 
and  why  her  heart  would  not  be  glad.  If  some  of 
her  ideals  had  been  shattered  she  rejoiced  and  was 

284 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET 

happy  that  that  of  her  Professor  had  not.  That 
first  day  back  in  her  cottage  home  she  went  over 
again  all  of  these  things  and  tried  to  steady  her  soul 
against  a  weakening  faith.  She  tried  to  forget  that 
she  had  stood  too  near  some  of  her  favorite  pictures, 
so  near  that  the  perspective  was  lost,  the  ugliness  em- 
phasized. But  in  the  end  she  came  to  know  that 
more  than  ever  she  would  cling  to  the  spiritual  things 
of  life  as  against  the  material.  And  so  it  was  that 
after  the  first  clouds  of  doubt  had  been  dispelled, 
she  knew  that  she  had  come  back  stronger  and 
clearer  in  her  faith  than  she  had  been  before.  Even 
the  garden  in  its  barren  waste  told  her  that  under- 
neath the  surface  of  dead  leaves  even  then  the  won- 
der hand  of  God  was  working,  and  that  the  miracle 
of  far-off  Spring  was  to  be  performed. 

More  than  ever  she  believed  that  true  happiness 
lies  in  service.  If  she  had  imagined  that  it  would 
take  New  York  or  New  Orleans  to  make  her  happy 
she  had  found  that  she  had  been  mistaken  and  that 
real  happiness  is  not  "the  sport  of  circumstances," 
does  not  depend  on  time  or  place,  but  is  within  one's 
inner  self.  She  was  not  concerned  about  wearing  a 
crown  but  about  being  worthy  to  wear  one;  she 
craved  not  the  purple  of  earthly  glory,  but  was  con- 
cerned about  having  a  heart  worthy  of  the  purple  of 
a  higher  life;  she  asked  no  earthly  throne  upon 

285 


RECORD  NO.  33 


which  to  sit,  but  she  resolved  to  make  her  life  regal 
in  its  real  center,  so  that  she  could  be  a  queen — 
whether  she  walked  "the  straight  and  narrow  way" 
according  to  Merryville's  precepts,  or  whether  she 
dwelt  among  the  glittering  splendor  of  New  York, 
or  whether  she  should  live  in  the  dream  life  down  in 
Louisiana. 

If  the  simplicity  and  the  seeming  shallowness  of 
her  life  here  had  wearied  her,  its  realness  and  its 
nearness  to  Nature  and  to  God  now  stimulated  her. 
Yes,  she  knew  that  she  had  come  back  with  her 
spiritual  nature  deepened  and  her  material  longings 
more  satisfied. 

She  had  brought  Aunt  Narcisse  back  with  her,  and 
both  found  much  to  do  in  restoring  the  cottage  to 
its  former  homelike  air.  Amelie  felt  uncertain  and 
queer,  and  she  was  beginning  to  wonder  if  she  could 
really  readjust  her  life  and  turn  it  back  into  the  cur- 
rents in  which  it  had  flowed  so  long. 

Bluebell  slept  fitfully  on  the  rug  and  looked  up 
frequently  at  her  mistress  as  if  to  inquire  if  she  were 
really  going  to  stay. 

A  cold,  white  rain  began  to  fall  and  continued  to 
pour  all  day.  She  was  glad  of  this  for  it  gave  to  her 
the  solitude  she  craved  for  that  first  day  back  at 
home.  For  a  while  she  wandered  from  one  room  to 
the  other,  putting  this  and  that  to  rights  and  helping 

286 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET 

Aunt  Narcisse  with  her  various  duties.  Then  she 
began  to  unpack  her  trunk. 

The  blue  straw  with  the  wreath  of  cornflowers 
on  it,  how  dilapidated  and  jaded  it  looked!  How 
pathetic  a  reminder  of  her  vanity! 

She  remembered  how  bright  and  beautiful  it  had 
seemed  to  her  that  Summer  morning  in  New  York 
when  she  tried  it  on  before  the  big  mirror,  and  how 
the  clerk  persuaded  her  she  looked  younger  and 
fairer  under  the  wreath  of  blue  cornflowers.  But, 
like  her  dream,  it  had  served  its  purpose,  and  its 
beauty  and  its  usefulness  were  spent.  So  she  put  it 
far  down  in  the  bottom  of  a  big  box  to  be  perfectly 
sure  that  it  could  not  be  resurrected.  Then  there 
were  the  remains  of  those  gorgeous  red  wings  that 
had  seemed  to  lure  her  on  as  she  gazed  at  them  that 
morning  in  Louisville.  More  than  once  her  con- 
science had  hurt  her  when  she  thought  of  the  bird 
from  which  those  wings  must  have  been  cut,  but  this 
morning  she  was  consoled,  for  she  saw  that  the  wings 
were  just  another  seeming  reality  and  that  they  were 
made  on  canvas  and  wire  and  were  not  real  wings 
after  all.  As  she  viewed  the  remains  she  smiled 
to  think  of  how  she  had  left  a  trail  of  crimson 
feathers  in  her  wake  as  she  turned  the  corner  at  the 
Flatiron  Building  in  New  York  one  breezy  day.  And 
so  the  red  wings,  or  what  was  left  of  them,  went 

287 


RECORD  NO.  33 


down  in  the  bottom  of  the  box  to  keep  the  blue  hat 
company  and  to  be  followed  by  other  odds  and  ends 
of  things  that  seemed  not  just  right  for  her  to  wear 
in  Merryville.  The  box  was  then  put  securely  away, 
far  back  on  the  top  shelf  of  the  closet,  where  no 
curious  eyes  could  penetrate. 

And  as  she  climbed  down  from  the  chair  on 
which  she  stood  to  reach  the  uttermost  end  of  the 
top  shelf  she  saw  that  other  lower  shelf  looking 
quite  bare  and  deserted.  Then,  from  the  bottom  of 
her  trunk,  she  took  out  the  little  box  containing  the 
voice  of  her  Professor,  and  she  put  it  in  its  accus- 
tomed place  on  the  shelf,  together  with  the  records. 

"Now,"  she  said,  when  everything  was  just  as  it 
had  been  before  she  went  to  New  York,  "if  I  have 
a  skeleton  in  my  closet,  surely  this  is  it,  for  the 
dream  is  dead  and  these  are  only  the  dry  bones." 

But  she  had  no  desire  to  set  the  machine  going 
and  to  hear  the  familiar  voice.  She  knew  that  it 
could  never,  never  mean  to  her  again  what  it  had 
meant  before  she  went  on  her  strange  quest. 

The  days  that  followed  were  neither  idle  nor  un- 
happy ones  for  her.  The  neighbors  came,  every  one 
of  them.  Whether  through  genuine  interest  or  genu- 
ine curiosity  she  was  unable  to  decide,  nor  did  she 
care.  She  laughed  and  talked  and  gossiped  with 
each  one  and  she  was  herself  surprised  at  how  easily 

288 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET 

she  seemed  to  fall  back  into  the  old  routine.  They 
all  declared  she  did  not  look  a  day  over  sixteen  in 
her  new  suit  and  hat.  Mrs.  Adams  was  immensely 
interested  in  hearing  about  "the  very  latest  styles" ; 
Minnie  Martin  was  anxious  to  know  if  things  in  the 
stores  she  described  to  them  so  graphically  were  as 
cheap  as  they  were  in  the  mail  order  catalog;  Miss 
Maggie  had  followed  the  suggestions  Amelie  had 
sent  her  regarding  her  "transformation"  with  so 
much  success  that  she  looked  even  younger  than 
ever;  Jeanne  and  her  mother  were  elated  over  the 
beautiful  plaid  goods  Amelie  had  brought  for 
Jeanne's  Fall  dress,  and  the  sweet  little  New  York 
hat  that  took  on  new  beauty  when  set  on  Jeanne's 
golden  curls;  and  even  Aunt  Mirandy  was  quite 
happy  over  her  "nice  black  skirt,  suitable  for  a  set- 
tled lady,"  which  was  duly  exhibited  to  every  in- 
habitant in  Merryville. 

It  was  only  when  she  sat  alone  in  the  evening 
that  Amelie  realized  that  things  were  different,  quite 
different,  and  that  they  could  never  be  the  same 
again.  It  was  only  then  that  she  told  herself  that 
for  the  rest  of  her  life  she  must  go  on  living  two 
lives,  and  that  they  were  vastly  more  distinct  than 
they  had  ever  been  before.  And  it  was  only  then 
that  her  soul  rebelled  and  that  she  heard  again 
from  the  depths  of  her  being  the  cry  she  had  heard 

289 


RECORD  NO.  33 


before,  a  cry  to  which  there  seemed  to  be  no  answer. 
Then  she  knew  that  what  had  always  been  lacking  in 
her  life  was  lacking  still,  would  always  be  lacking. 
She  was  lonely.  Often  in  those  quiet  Fall  evenings 
she  would  stand  before  that  wonderful  picture  of 
"The  Temptation,"  and  she  would  comprehend  far 
more  fully  than  she  had  ever  comprehended  before, 
the  awful,  solemn  dreariness  of  that  weary  waste, 
and  she  would  know  as  she  had  never  known  before 
the  radiant  splendor  of  that  gleam  of  distant  glory! 

And  at  other  times  she  would  turn  to  her  picture 
of  "Hope,"  with  its  blindness,  its  listlessness,  its 
loneliness,  and  in  the  misty  blue  of  the  far-off  sky  she 
would  see  that  single  star! 

But  these  opportunities  to  open  the  gates  and  let 
the  flood  of  memories  sweep  over  her  soul  came 
seldom,  and  by  conscious  effort  she  began  to  live 
more,  to  feel  more,  to  enjoy  more  the  outward  life 
about  her.  She  was  glad  when  the  time  came  for 
the  annual  Fall  order  from  the  big  catalog,  and  the 
daily  meetings  of  the  neighbors  to  discuss  it  were 
positively  exciting  to  her  as  well  as  to  the  others. 
For  months  pennies,  dimes,  and  dollars  were  saved 
for  this  really  notable  occasion,  and  it  took  careful 
calculations  and  serious  thoughts  on  the  part  of  the 
long-distance  shoppers  to  decide  just  how  the  sum 
of  three  dollars  or  five  dollars  or  ten  dollars 

290 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET 

should  be  expended.  In  order  to  save  freight,  the 
orders  were  combined  in  one,  a  single  check  sent  and 
the  goods  shipped  in  one  big  box.  And  the  arrival 
of  the  box !  This  brought  more  thrills,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  added  trouble  in  pro-rating  the  freight  charges 
and  dividing  out  the  things. 

Merryville  had  its  periodical  protracted  meet- 
ings. Also  each  year  the  circus  came,  after  having 
been  announced  in  wonderful  flaming  posters.  Of 
recent  years,  the  population  had  annually  thrilled  for 
a  whole  week  over  the  myriad  attractions  of  a  street 
carnival.  September  invariably  revived  the  femi- 
nine feuds  of  a  generation  when  the  blue  ribbon  was 
tied  by  the  judges  at  the  county  fair  on  the  premium 
bread  and  cake,  the  jelly  and  preserves,  and  lastly, 
on  the  babies.  Two  or  three  murder  trials  of  wide- 
spread interest  had  furnished  wildest  excitement  at 
the  time  and  topic  for  conversation  ever  since.  Mer- 
ryville had  even  been  the  scene  of  the  first  and  most 
startling  of  the  night-rider  disturbances  that  made 
that  part  of  Kentucky  famous.  But  it  remained  for 
the  arrival  of  the  big  mail-order  catalog  and  the 
community  order  therefrom  to  furnish  the  real  ex- 
citement of  the  year  to  the  neighbors  on  that  hill  on 
the  fringe  of  the  town. 

Amelie  had  been  at  home  just  two  days  when  the 
neighbors  gathered  at  her  house  on  a  bright  Fall 

291 


RECORD  NO.  33 


afternoon  to  settle  the  final  details  of  the  order, 
write  the  check  and  mail  the  wonderful  letter. 

"Minnie,  how  much  did  you  say  them  fish-eye 
pearl  buttons  was?"  asked  old  Mrs.  Martin,  as  she 
put  up  a  wrinkled  hand  and  strained  her  failing  ear 
toward  her  daughter. 

Minnie  Martin  was  sitting  perfectly  erect  in  a 
straight  chair,  looking  business-like  and  severe.  She 
was  a  conspicuous,  and,  it  was  easy  to  see,  an  impor- 
tant member  of  the  group. 

Minnie's  china-blue  calico  dress  was  stiffly  starched 
and  freshly  ironed,  and  her  thin,  colorless  hair  was 
brushed  plainly  back  from  her  high  forehead,  and 
twisted  in  a  tight  wad  at  the  back  of  her  head,  ex- 
actly opposite  her  long  nose.  She  was  very  thin. 
There  was,  in  fact,  nothing  superfluous  about 
Minnie. 

"Ma,"  she  replied,  in  her  high,  shrill  voice,  "I 
told  Amelie  to  set  you  down  for  twelve  dozen  of 
them  fish-eyes,  and  if  you  change  again  she'll  have  to 
add  up  all  over  again.  Besides,  you've  took  up  your 
three  dollars,"  and  there  was  something  final  and 
definite  in  her  tone. 

The  older  Mrs.  Martin  settled  back  in  her  chair 
resignedly. 

"What  I  was  thinkin',"  she  said,  hopelessly  but 
none  the  less  emphatically,  "was  that  if  I  left  off 

292 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET 

some  of  the  fish-eyes,  I  could  get  half  a  yard  more 
of  that  embroidery  for  my  petticoat  ruffle.  I  never 
could  stand  skimp  ruffles,  you  know  I  couldn't." 

Minnie  probably  treated  the  incident  as  officially 
closed,  for  she  took  no  notice  of  the  remark.  Then, 
as  a  sort  of  a  postscript,  the  old  lady  added  meekly: 

"I'd  rather  do  without  some  of  the  buttons  and 
have  a  little  more  fullness  in  my  petticoat  ruffle.  I 
don't  wear  neither  splits  nor  hobbles." 

Minnie  was  becoming  more  and  more  impatient 
and  she  spoke  louder  than  was  necessary  this 
time. 

"A  settled  lady  like  you  has  no  business  with  em- 
broidered petticoat  ruffles,"  she  said;  "all  a  body 
needs  in  that  line  is  something  fittin'  to  be  buried  in, 
and  goodness  knows  your  crocheted  set  is  a  long 
sight  handsomer  than  any  nineteen-cent  embroidery 
could  be.  Besides,  if  you've  got  any  extry  out  of 
your  three  dollars,  you  had  better  put  it  in  pot  tops. 
You  can  get  a  set  of  six  nice  tin  tops,  graduated 
sizes,  in  a  wire  rack  for  a  quarter,  and  they'd  be 
mighty  handy  hanging  on  that  nail  alongside  of  the 
stove." 

But  the  merits  of  the  pot  tops  as  set  forth  by  Min- 
nie awakened  no  responsive  chord  in  the  soul  of  the 
old  lady  whose  fancy  still  floated  around  the  em- 
broidered ruffles.  But  she  waved  the  subject  off, 

293 


RECORD  NO.  33 


and  let  her  daughter  have  her  way,  as  she  always 
did. 

Amelie,  by  common  consent,  was  a  sort  of  secre- 
tary and  treasurer,  and  she  sat  at  the  table  and 
kept  a  strict  account  of  every  order  as  well  as  of  the 
various  sums  of  money  paid  in.  The  order  had 
grown  so  long  that  several  sheets  had  been  pinned 
together  and  it  looked  quite  impressive. 

Jeanne  herself  had  had  no  unimportant  share  in 
the  events  that  had  led  up  to  this  all-important  occa- 
sion, and  no  detail  of  the  final  preparation  escaped 
her.  She  leaned  over  the  arm  of  the  chair  occupied 
by  Amelie,  who  was  privileged  at  that  moment  to 
have  and  to  hold  for  a  while  the  big  book  with  its 
pages  and  pages  of  pictures  and  its  bewildering  array 
of  numbers  and  prices. 

As  she  turned  the  pages  the  picture  of  Minnie 
Martin,  stiff  and  severe  in  her  blue-calico  dress, 
forced  itself  upon  her  vision.  Look  where  she 
would,  Minnie's  cold  blue  eyes  seemed  to  be  upon 
her  and  she  had  a  strange  feeling  that  she  was  guilty 
of  something.  True,  the  most  awful  indictment  that 
had  been  returned  against  her,  so  far  as  she  knew, 
was  that  she  had  been  disappointed  in  love.  But 
she  felt  that  Minnie  Martin  had  some  sort  of  a 
lingering  suspicion  of  her.  She  skimmed  over  the 
pictures  of  rugs,  carpets,  laces,  underwear,  dresses, 

294 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET 

and  dozen  and  dozen  of  other  things  while  Jeanne 
looked  on.  A  slight  metallic  cough  from  Minnie  and 
little  signals  of  impatience  from  other  members  of 
the  company  made  her  realize  that  she  was  keeping 
the  precious  book  too  long,  and  so  she  laid  it  back  on 
the  table. 

"Your  father  will  be  tickled  to  death  with  that 
Old  Folks'  Testament,  Minnie,"  said  Kitty  brightly, 
as  she  turned  her  attention  for  a  moment  from  the 
long  order  sheet  and  rocked  contentedly.  Kitty  could 
always  be  counted  on  for  sympathy  and  help. 

"Yes,"  answered  Minnie,  "he's  been  wantin'  one 
in  big  print  for  a  long  time,  and  I  know  he'll  perk 
up  when  he  sees  it.  He's  been  powerful  po'rly  of 
late." 

"That's  just  what  I've  been  wantin'  so  long,"  came 
in  mournful  tones  from  the  corner  where  Mrs.  Hol- 
loday  had  been  sitting  in  perfect,  solemn  silence  all 
afternoon.  She  had  not  joined  in  the  order,  al- 
though she  had  never  failed  to  be  present  every  time 
the  neighbors  had  gathered  to  discuss  ii:.  It  was 
not  for  lack  of  money  that  she  had  refrained,  for 
when  she  moved,  the  coins  in  her  little  purse  in  her 
apron  pocket  did  not  fail  to  announce  themselves. 
This  was  the  first  time  she  had  spoken  since  she  had 
come  into  the  room  and  promptly  and  emphatically 
Minnie  answered, 

295 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"If  you  want  that  Testament,"  she  said,  "get  it'* 
and  there  was  conviction  and  argument  in  her  tone. 
"I  simply  would  pay  no  attention  whatever  to  Jim 
Holloday's  whims.  I  can't  see  myself  where  it's  any 
of  his  business  what  you  do  with  your  strawberry 
money.  That's  the  way  with  men,  they've  got  no 
idea  what  women  really  need  and  want,  and  they  al- 
ways think  of  themselves  first  and  foremost."  Evi- 
dently this  speech  had  been  incubating  for  some  time, 
for  Minnie  spoke  with  spirit. 

"Just  make  up  your  mind  and  get  it,"  added 
Kitty,  more  sympathetically  and  more  gently.  "I 
don't  believe  Jim  would  care  after  it  was  all  over." 

"Well,  it  does  look  hard  that  I  can't  do  as  I 
please  with  my  strawberry  money,"  said  Mrs.  Hol- 
loday,  "but  my  son  Jim  says  the  town  merchants 
don't  like  for  us  home  folks  to  be  sendin'  way  off 
to  New  York  to  get  our  things,  and  he  says  if  the 
Sykes  boys  and  Pollard  and  Newman  was  to  hear 
of  his  mother  doin'  such  a  thing  it  might  cost  him  a 
right  smart  of  votes." 

Here  was  a  delicate  situation  and  even  Minnie 
refrained  from  expressing  herself  in  words,  al- 
though her  lips  closed  a  little  more  tightly,  and  she 
shifted  her  position  a  little  wearily.  Then,  as  if 
to  add  to  the  effect,  she  sighed.  The  silence  that 
followed  was  broken  by  Mrs.  Holloday  herself. 

296 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET 

"Besides  that  Old  Folks'  Testament,"  she 
whined  faintly,  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth  curved 
downward  a  little  more,  "there  ain't  but  one  thing 
in  that  whole  catalog  that  I  really  and  truly 
want." 

"Then  get  it,"  cut  in  Minnie  again  promptly  and 
emphatically.  "What  is  it?  I  tell  you  Jim  Hollo- 
day  ain't  a-carin'  about  your  wants.  I  argue  that 
that  four  dollars  and  eighty  cents  is  your  money, 
and  that  you  can  do  as  you  please  with  it.  You  set 
out  every  one  of  them  strawberry  plants  with  your 
own  hands,  and  you  watered  them  all  through  that 
dry  spell,  and  there's  no  good  and  lawful  reason 
why  you  shouldn't  spend  that  money  just  as  you 
please.  When  Jim  gets  elected  sheriff,  mighty 
little  he'll  be  thinkin'  about  your  wants — like  as  not 
he'll  go  and  marry  Sarah  Adams  and  leave  you." 

There  was  another  long  silence.  Kitty  rocked 
steadily  and  evenly  and  a  smile  was  playing  behind 
her  features.  Minnie,  if  somewhat  relieved  after 
her  last  speech,  was  as  frigid  as  ever.  Amelie  sat 
with  pencil  in  hand,  ready  to  enter  the  order  should 
Mrs.  Holloday  decide  to  make  it. 

That  lady  was  evidently  under  conviction.  She 
sniffed  a  few  times,  took  out  her  handkerchief  and 
then  her  purse  from  her  apron  pocket.  Very  slowly 
she  counted  out  one  dollar  and  ninety-eight  cents 

297 


RECORD  NO.  33 


and  she  laid  it  on  the  table  in  front  of  Amelie,  beside 
the  order  sheet.  "I'll  take  the  Testament,"  she 
said,  "and  there's  the  money." 

"Miss  Amelie,  turn  to  page  846,"  Minnie  said 
coldly,  "and  see  if  that  Testament  ain't  Number 
11,435."  And  it  was.  Minnie  was  proving  anew 
her  marvelous  power  for  remembering  prices  and 
numbers  and  locations  of  pictures. 

By  unanimous  consent  Minnie  had  been  allowed 
to  keep  the  catalog  for  two  whole  days  and  nights, 
in  which  time  she  had  become  perfectly  familiar 
with  the  most  popular  items  therein.  For  two  more 
days  the  neighbors  had  taken  turn  about  churning  for 
her,  keeping  the  children  and  otherwise  helping  with 
Minnie's  household  duties  in  order  that  she  might 
visit  every  store  on  the  square  and  ascertain  values 
and  prices.  She  could  therefore  tell  to  a  fraction  of 
a  cent  just  what  the  saving  would  be  on  every  card 
of  buttons  or  safety-pins,  "freight  included." 

"Miss  Minnie,"  said  Jeanne,  jumping  up,  ex- 
cited by  a  sudden  remembrance,  and  her  big  blue  eyes 
met  the  cold  gray  ones  of  the  abrupt  Miss  Martin, 
"did  you  all  remember  Uncle  Joe's  brace  and 
bit?" 

"See  if  it's  down,  Miss  Amelie,"  said  Minnie. 

"Yes,  here  it  is,"  returned  Amelie  reassuringly. 
"One  brace  and  bit,  sixty-nine  cents,  and  here  is  his 

298 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET 

money,"  and  she  pointed  to  a  little  pile  of  coins  be- 
side Mrs.  Holloday's  strawberry  money. 

"Well,  did  you  put  down  Miss  Maggie's  shoes?" 
prompted  Jeanne  again.  She  had  been  so  close  to 
the  whole  transaction  that  she  felt  a  certain  respon- 
sibility and  she  was  ransacking  her  memory  that  not 
one  item  should  be  overlooked. 

Miss  Maggie's  shoes  were  located  on  the  long 
order  sheet,  and  there  followed  some  discussion  as 
to  whether  or  not  she  did  finally  decide  to  get  the 
ones  with  the  tips  on  the  toes.  This  matter  being 
settled  there  was  a  general  feeling  of  "speak  now 
or  forever  hold  your  peace"  among  the  little  com- 
pany. Then  it  was  Mrs.  Holloday  who  again  broke 
the  silence. 

"I've  jest  been  thinkin',"  she  said,  and  doubtless 
she  had,  for  she  had  neither  spoken  nor  looked  up 
since  she  had  rendered  the  decision  in  favor  of  the 
Testament  and  against  Jim.  "I  might  jest  as  well 
spend  this  money  now.  If  I  don't  it's  sure  to  go  for 
something  else."  Then,  after  a  pause,  "Amelie,  can 
you  rub  out  the  Testament?" 

"Yes'm,"  said  Amelie,  who  could  not  help  but 
notice  that  the  order  sheet  was  beginning  to  look 
dark  from  frequent  erasures.  Then  she  waited  for 
Mrs.  Holloday  to  digest  the  matter  thoroughly  be- 
fore she  asked: 

299 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"Must  I  rub  it  out?"  There  was  another  thought- 
ful pause,  then  Mrs.  Holloday  plunged. 

"Yes,  rub  it  out,"  she  said,  and  she  spread  out 
her  handkerchief  on  her  lap  and  emptied  the  re- 
mainder of  her  strawberry  money  into  it. 

"There  ain't  but  one  other  thing  in  that  whole 
book  that  I  really  and  truly  want,"  she  repeated. 
"Miss  Amelie,  please  lend  me  the  catalog." 

Jeanne  stole  swift  and  telling  glances  at  the  col- 
ored pages,  as  she  passed  the  book  from  Amelie  to 
Mrs.  Holloday,  and  she  wondered  in  her  excited  lit- 
tle soul  how  Mrs.  Holloday  could  keep  from  want- 
ing many  of  the  wonderful  things  in  that  book. 

No  one  spoke,  and  the  clock  ticked  with  what 
seemed  unusual  precision  and  noise  while  Mrs.  Hol- 
loday turned  through  the  book,  first  one  way  and 
then  the  other,  in  her  efforts  to  locate  the  only  other 
thing  she  coveted  besides  the  Old  Folks'  Testa- 
ment. 

"Like  as  not  them  Hopkins'  children  has  tore  it 
out,"  came  from  old  Mrs.  Martin  disconsolately. 
Being  deaf  she  had  not  caught  the  whole  con- 
versation, but  she  had  gathered!  that  Mrs.  Hollo- 
day  had  decided  to  make  another  order,  and  she  was 
as  curious  as  the  others.  "I  did  hate  to  see  that 
catalog  go  to  that  Hopkins'  house  yesterday,"  and 
she  shut  her  thin  lips  together  to  emphasize  the 

300 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET 

gravity  of  the  sentiment.  "I  jest  knew  something 
would  happen  to  it.  Them  Hopkins'  children  are 
the  peskiest  children  on  this  hill." 

"Well,  we  just  couldn't  refuse,"  said  Kitty,  al- 
ways ready  to  justify  and  excuse.  Having  by  virtue 
of  several  things  assumed  the  important  post  of 
keeper  of  the  book,  Kitty  felt  a  terrible  responsi- 
bility. 

"You  know,"  she  continued  apologetically, 
"everybody  on  the  hill  had  had  the  catalog  one  night 
but  Mollie  Hopkins,  and  she  had  made  an  order, 
and  as  we  had  made  it  a  rule  that  anyone  who  made 
an  order  could  have  the  catalog  one  night,  there 
was  nothing  else  to  do  but  let  her  have  it.  But  it 
does  look  like  she  could  have  kept  the  children  away 
from  it  one  night." 

"I  saw  them  torn  pages  as  soon  as  I  got  in  the 
room  this  morning,"  said  Jeanne,  and  the  very 
memory  of  the  near  tragedy  brought  a  lump  into  her 
throat.  Jeanne  shared  something  of  her  mother's 
feeling  of  responsibility  for  the  safety  of  the  catalog, 
for  of  all  the  children  on  the  hill,  she  had  been  the 
only  one  who  had  been  intrusted  to  carry  the  valu- 
able book  to  each  neighbor  in  turn  and  to  go  for 
it  when  the  time  came. 

"No,  there  was  nothing  else  to  do,"  repeated 
Kitty,  in  further  defense  of  her  course.  "There 

301 


RECORD  NO.  33 


was  no  getting  around  it — Molly  did  make  an 
order." 

"Yes,  and  what  was  it?"  snapped  Minnie,  again 
animated  and  sharp.  "One  measley  set  of  pot  tops 
and  twelve  dozen  safety-pins — and  two  whole  pages 
tore  out." 

Kitty  had  a  way  of  laughing  to  smooth  out 
wrinkles,  and  so  she  laughed  at  Minnie's  show  of 
temper.  Then  Minnie  melted  a  little  as  she  usually 
did  when  Kitty  laughed. 

"I  wouldn't  have  minded  it  so  much,"  she  said, 
"if  it  hadn't  been  the  notions  that  was  tore  out. 
The  very  thing  some  of  us  was  goin'  to  fill  out  with. 
Now,  I  lack  thirteen  cents  of  taking  up  my  five  dol- 
lars, and  Miss  Maggie  lacks  twenty-two  cents  of 
taking  up  hers." 

"Unless  she  decides  to  get  that  scrim  for  the 
front  room  curtains  instead  of  the  churn,"  finished 
Kitty.  And  then  she  added  seriously:  "I  suggest 
that  we  all  take  up  our  extry  with  that  linen  lawn  at 
thirty-three-and-a-third  cents  a  yard." 

Then  a  very  serious  light  came  into  Kitty's  big 
blue  eyes. 

"Poor  little  Nellie  West,"  she  said  sadly,  "she 
sent  the  money  this  morning,  and  asked  me  to  order 
some  of  that  linen  lawn  and  some  of  that  fifty-cent 
white  flannel  for  her.  It  made  me  feel  real  bad, 

302 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET: 

too,  for  I  just  knew  she'd  never  have  any  use  for 
it." 

"Never  in  this  world,"  echoed  Minnie  positively 
and  sadly.  The  stork  was  expected  down  at  Nel- 
lie's house  and  Nellie  wasn't  strong. 

"I  really  don't  think  we  ought  to  let  her  pay  any 
freight,"  added  Kitty,  gathering  sympathy  as  she 
thought  of  Nellie.  Minnie  was  the  last  to  acquiesce 
in  this  plan,  but  she  finally  agreed  that  "poor  little 
Nellie  West"  was  not  to  pay  any  freight  on  her 
linen  lawn  and  white  flannel. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Holloday  had  found  the  place, 
and  taking  the  book  over  to  Amelie,  with  quivering 
lips  and  tearful  eyes,  she  pointed  to  a  picture. 

"Set  me  down  for  that,"  she  said,  "No.  I4,S78» 
and  here's  the  rest  of  the  money." 

"Why,  Mrs.  Holloday,"  said  Amelie  in  aston- 
ishment, "you  don't  want  that  with  your  strawberry 
money,  do  you?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  came  from  behind  Mrs.  Holloday's 
handkerchief.  "I've  dreamed  of  an  open  grave 
three  times  in  the  last  month,  and  Jim  will  never 
think  of  these  things  when  I  am  gone." 

Amelie  read  aloud: 

"Neat  and  durable.  Will  stand  any  kind  of 
weather.  Guaranteed  to  look  like  marble  three 
feet  away.  Price,  $4.98." 

3°3 


RECORD  NO.  33 


"A  tombstone !"  ejaculated  Minnie  who,  with  the 
others,  was  looking  over  Amelie's  shoulder. 

"I  know  it's  pure  tin ;  I  ain't  expectin'  nothin'  fine 
for  that  price,  but  if  it's  mottled  like  the  picture,  it 
will  look  like  marble,  and  they  say  there  they  guaran- 
tee it."  And  Mrs.  Holloday  looked  much  more 
cheerful  now  that  her  secret  desire  had  finally  been 
made  known. 

When  the  others  had  gone  home,  Amelie  per- 
suaded Mrs.  Holloday  to  take  the  Testament  instead 
of  the  tombstone.  But  having  been  persuaded 
against  her  will,  it  was  not  surprising  that  she  should 
call  at  Amelie's  cottage  that  night  to  tell  her  that, 
after  all,  she  had  decided  on  the  tombstone.  Once 
more  Amelie  patiently  erased  the  item,  "Old  Folks' 
Testament,  No.  11,435"  an^  substituted,  "Tomb- 
stone, No.  14,578." 

Ten  days  later  things  were  even  more  intense  and 
exciting  than  they  had  been,  for  the  big  box  actu- 
ally arrived.  Only  one  thing  detracted  from  the 
usual  joy  of  the  occasion.  Old  Mr.  Martin  was 
much  worse  and  Jeanne  ran  over  frequently  to  re- 
port to  Amelie  news  of  his  latest  "sinking  spells"  as 
she  heard  them  described  by  her  elders.  That  night 
she  came  in  unusually  excited  and  Amelie  knew  that 
she  had  something  to  tell. 

"Well,  was  everybody  pleased  with  their  things?" 
3°4 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET 

she  asked,  for  the  child  had  talked  of  nothing  but 
the  big  box  all  day  and  Amelie  guessed  that  she  had 
more  news  about  this. 

"Yes,"  Jeanne  replied,  seriously,  "everybody  but 
Mrs.  Holloday." 

"Didn't  she  like  the  tombstone?"  asked  Amelie, 
all  interest  herself  now- 

"No,"  and  the  child's  voice  was  positively  mourn- 
ful. "She  said  it  wasn't  mottled  enough  and  it 
was  pure  tin.  And  she  said  if  the  wind  was  to  get 
under  it  some  day  it  would  be  a  mile  up  the  pike 
before  anyone  could  catch  it."  Amelie  laughed  in 
spite  of  the  seriousness  of  the  subject. 

"Mother  said  she  thought  it  was  a  very  good 
tombstone  for  the  price,  and  she  thought  Mrs.  Hol- 
loday ought  to  be  very  well  satisfied  with  it.  She 
could  take  her  choice  of  several  nice  mottoes  and 
there  are  extra  letters  to  put  in  the  name  with." 

Amelie  expressed  regret  over  Mrs.  Holloday's 
disappointment  and  said  she  was  sorry  she  had  not 
ordered  the  Testament  after  all.  This  gave  Jeanne 
the  opening  she  sought,  and  Amelie  knew  that  she 
was  telling  the  news  she  had  really  come  to  tell 
when  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  genuine  relief, 

"Well,  they've  got  it  all  fixed  now.  Miss  Minnie 
Martin  swapped  Mrs.  Holloday  that  Testament  she 
ordered  for  old  Mr.  Martin  for  the  tombstone.  And 

3°5 


RECORD  NO.  33 


I  think  it's  all  right,  and  mother  thinks  so,  too, 
because  Mr.  Martin  can't  read  the  Testament  now 
and  he  needs  the  tombstone;  and  Mrs.  Holloday 
can  do  without  the  tombstone  and  she  needs  the 
Testament.  Miss  Minnie  picked  out  'Not  dead,  but 
sleeping'  for  the  motto.  I  reckon  she  did  that  for 
politeness,  because  Mr.  Martin  isn't  quite  dead  yet, 
you  know." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   REWARD 

THE  red  geraniums  which  she  had  just  brought 
up  from  the  bottom  of  the  pit  dropped 
from  Amelie's  hands  and  lay  about  her  feet 
as  she  stood  in  profound  astonishment  in  the  door 
of  her  little  pink-and-white  sitting-room.  A  great 
tide  of  memories  swept  over  her  soul  and  she 
doubted  her  senses,  in  that  swift,  wonderful  moment 
in  which  she  saw  the  French  Professor  coming  across 
the  room  to  greet  her. 

A  slanting  shaft  of  late  afternoon  sunlight  fell 
across  her  face,  as  she  stood  there,  wrapped  in  her 
heavy  gray  coat.  The  soft  brown  hair  was  wind- 
blown about  her  cheeks,  into  which  a  vivid  color 
had  come,  and  the  shadow  of  a  dream  deepened  the 
blue  of  her  eyes. 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his  own  and  held  them 
fast  while  he  looked  into  her  wondering  eyes. 

"I  must  hold  you  like  this,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  "I  must  be  sure  that  you  will  not  vanish  from 

307 


RECORD  NO.  33 


me  again — I  must  be  perfectly  sure  that  I  have  you 
and  that  I  am  not  dreaming." 

And  then  he  stooped  and  gathered  up  the  red 
geraniums  and  put  them  into  her  hands  again. 

"I  shall  always  want  to  keep  you  in  my  memory 
as  I  see  you  now,"  he  said,  "with  the  red  geraniums 
against  your  gray  coat,  with  the  warm,  golden  sun 
across  your  face,  with  that  color  in  your  cheeks, 
and  that  dream  in  your  eyes — here  in  this  little 


room." 


Then  Amelie  laughed  a  little  because  she  could 
think  of  nothing  to  say  for  a  moment.  And  then 
she  asked  him, 

"When  did  you  come  and  how?  I  was  in  the 
bottom  of  my  pit  and  Aunt  Narcisse  called  down  to 
me  from  the  porch  to  come  up,  for  company  was 
here.  Of  course,  I  expected  to  see  one  of  the  neigh- 
bors, and — well,  I  seem  to  have  found  you !" 

He  watched  her  arrange  the  geraniums  in  a  vase 
on  the  table  and  she  turned  to  him  with  inquiry  in 
her  face  again. 

"Do  sit  down,"  she  said,  "and  you  haven't  told 
me  yet  why  you  came." 

Vaguely  she  guessed  he  had  come  for  the  record. 
Perhaps,  he  had  needed  it  for  further  evidence ;  per- 
haps, she  had  done  wrong  to  keep  him  in  ignorance 
of  her  whereabouts  these  last  few  weeks;  perhaps, 

308 


'He  took  both  her  hands  in  his  own  and  held  them  fast 
while  he  looked  into  her  wondering  eyes." 


THE  REWARD 


she  had  kept  him  from  claiming  the  reward.  These 
thoughts  sent  a  sharp  little  fear  into  her  heart 
and  she  looked  at  him  with  a  question  in  her  blue 
eyes. 

"I  really  don't  understand  it,"  she  said,  breaking 
the  silence.  "I  don't  know  what  to  say." 

"Well,  you  might  say  you  are  glad  to  see  me,  or 
some  pleasant  platitude  like  that,"  he  teased. 

"And  it  was  you  who  chaffed  under  mystery,  you 
who  didn't  like  it!"  she  answered.  "Tell  me,"  she 
broke  off,  "did  you  get  the  reward,  did  the  clue  I 
gave  you  help  some?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  did  get— that  reward." 
And  she  clapped  her  hands  in  childish  delight  and 
tried  to  make  him  understand  how  glad  she  was. 

"I  will  tell  you  all  about  it,"  he  said,  quite  hap- 
pily, "but  there  is  a  mystery  that  is  far  more  in- 
teresting to  me  than  that.  And  now  won't  you  tell 
me  just  how  you  got  your  Record  No.  33,  why  you 
were  so  fond  of  it,  and  all  about  it?  I  really  want 
to  know  the  whole  story." 

And  quite  simply  and  naturally  she  told  him.  Of 
how  she  ordered  the  machine,  of  her  struggles  to 
keep  up  her  French  down  in  Merryville  with  never 
a  soul  to  hear  or  understand;  of  how,  after  she  had 
had  the  machine  for  weeks  and  weeks  she  acciden- 
tally stumbled  upon  this  record;  of  how  it  aroused 

309 


RECORD  NO.  33 


her  curiosity — and  of  how  she  wondered  and  won- 
dered and  wondered  about  the  person  who  loved 
Louisiana  just  as  she  did. 

"It  was  perfectly  natural  that  I  should  be  curi- 
ous," she  said.  "Wouldn't  you  have  been  curious  if, 
when  you  were  trying  a  record  some  night  all  alone, 
some  new  voice  in  perfectly  natural  tones,  were  to 
begin  to  express  the  sentiments  that  had  been  your 
sentiments  all  of  your  life?  Now  really  don't  you 
think  I  had  a  right  to  be  curious?" 

"I  do,"  he  said  earnestly,  "but  go  on.  What  did 
you  do  next?" 

"Well,  for  a  long  time  I  enjoyed  the  society  of 
that  record,"  she  admitted,  and  her  face  was  sweetly 
grave.  "You  have  no  idea  how  much  company  you 
have  been  to  me,  your  imprisoned  voice.  I  felt  that 
I  really  knew  you  long  before  you  came  into  the  Wal- 
dorf-Astoria that  night."  And  she  smiled  as  she 
thought  of  the  little  machine  on  the  closet  shelf  not 
three  feet  from  where  he  sat. 

"What  really  gave  strong  color  to  the  impres- 
sion that  you  did  have  the  scientific  record,"  he 
added,  looking  searchingly  into  her  eyes,  "was  that 
you  seemed  to  value  your  Record  No.  33  so  highly. 
That  puzzled  them,  you  know." 

"How  did  they  know?"  she  said,  flushing. 

"Because  I  think  you  gave  that  impression  in  your 
310 


THE  REWARD 


conversation  with  Mr.  Lawrence  and  Mr.  Chal- 
mers," he  answered,  and  he  took  from  his  pocket  the 
carbon  copy  of  that  memorable  conversation  on  the 
morning  of  her  arrival  in  New  York. 

"Dear  me,  there  is  that  record  again!"  she 
laughed.  "How  little  I  dreamed  that  all  I  said 
should  be  recorded  against  me  when  I  went  into  that 
office  that  morning!  I  believe,  since  you  have  men- 
tioned it,  that  I  did  say  something  about  how  I 
valued  the  record." 

The  Professor  was  reading  the  well-worn  carbon 
sheets. 

"It  is  a  wonderfully  clear  record,  isn't  it?"  he 
asked,  looking  at  her  a  little  curiously. 

"Wonderfully  clear,"  she  echoed  flatly,  looking 
over  his  head  at  the  star  of  hope  shining  now  with  a 
new  glory  in  the  sky  back  at  Watts'  forlorn  and  de- 
spairing figure.  In  her  face  he  could  read  no  trace  of 
what  was  going  on  within  her  soul. 

"This  invention  of  Mr.  Channing's  is  really  mar- 
velous," he  said. 

"Indeed  it  is  marvelous,"  she  repeated,  without  a 
change  of  tone  or  expression,  though  he  searched 
her  face. 

"This  record,  of  course,  you  must  have  considered 
especially  interesting  and  valuable,"  he  continued, 
with  his  eyes  still  on  her  face  which  was  upturned  to 


RECORD  NO.  33 


the  soft  evening  light  that  came  from  the  window  at 
his  back. 

"Certainly,"  she  answered,  "very  interesting  and 
valuable  indeed." 

He  was  no  further  along  than  he  had  been  before, 
and  after  a  pause  he  said: 

"Of  course,  Miss  Trent,  you  certainly  must  know 
if  the  record  you  had  could  have  furnished  a  clue 
that  would  have  led  to  the  solution  of  the  mystery 
you,  and  not  I,  would  have  been  entitled  to  the  re- 
ward." 

"I  didn't  want  the  reward,"  she  told  him,  "I 
wanted  you  to  have  it." 

"You  are  positively  funny  sometimes,"  he  said, 
looking  pleased,  and  she  smiled  back  at  him  in  a 
sweet,  embarrassed  little  way,  "but  I  must  confess 
I  am  still  wondering  why  you  value  the  record  so 
highly." 

Amelie  did  not  intend  him  to  understand,  and  she 
only  teased  him  with  a  tantalizing  smile.  He  was 
reading  again  from  the  carbon  sheets. 

"You  do  value  that  record,"  he  repeated.  "You 
say  here,  'I  would  not  be  willing  to  let  anybody 
have  that  record — not  for  all  the  money  in  New 

York.' " 

"I  did  say  that,"  she  returned,  slightly  defiant  and 

reckless  now,  "and  I  meant  it." 

312 


THE  REWARD 


"I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Charming  would  appreciate 
your  valuing  the  record  so  highly  on  that  account 
if  he  only  knew  it,"  and  he  searched  her  features 
again. 

"Perhaps  he  would,"  she  answered,  "if  he  knew 
it.  But  he  doesn't  know  it,  and  I  do  not  wish  him 
to  know  it.  And  you  have  promised."  She  looked 
at  him  appealingly.  A  little  foolish,  mysterious  hap- 
piness excited  her  and  new  lights  were  darting  in 
and  out  of  the  depths  of  her  eyes. 

"I  have  remembered  my  promise,"  he  said.  And 
then  he  told  her  of  some  of  the  things  that  had  hap- 
pened since  he  left  her  at  the  breakfast  table  with 
his  mother  that  morning. 

"I  got  your  note  and  went  immediately  to  look 
for  you  only  to  find  that  you  had  already  gone.  I 
could  not  understand  then  and  I  cannot  understand 
now  why  you  left  as  you  did.  Was  I  rude?  Did  I 
offend  you?"  and  he  sought  the  answer  in  her  eyes. 
She  wondered  if  she  could  ever  make  him  under- 
stand. 

"No.  Oh,  no,"  she  told  him,  lightly,  "I  was 
deeply  appreciative  of  all  the  beautiful  things  you 
did  for  me,  and  I  remember  them  very,  very  often 
with  the  greatest  pleasure.  I  confess  that  I  knew 
when  you  left  me  at  breakfast  that  morning  that 
I  was  going  away  that  day.  And  I  thought,  well, 


RECORD  NO.  33 


I  was  quite  sure  then  that  I  should  never  see  you 
again." 

"Then  why  did  you  deceive  me?" 

"Only  because  you  had  been  too  kind;  and  I  had 
been  too  much  trouble  to  you.  I  knew  you  were  busy 
and  I  couldn't  have  allowed  you  to  do  any  more  for 
me.  I  felt  that  the  accident  of  my  being  in  New 
York,  the  accident  of  that  record  being  made  and 
lost,  the  accident  of  my  having  your  record,  and  the 
accident  of  my  getting  into  it  all — I  say  I  felt  that  all 
of  these  accidents  had  forced  me  and  my  affairs  on 
your  attentions  and  the  only  way  I  could  think  of 
to  relieve  you  was  to  run  away." 

"And  you  gave  no  address,  though  you  took  pains 
to  let  us  know  that  you  were  not  at  home,"  he  said 
reproachfully. 

"Well,"  she  began,  and  it  was  so  hard  to  know 

just  what  to  say,  "I  didn't  think "  and  then  she 

hesitated  and  started  again.  "But  you  haven't  told 
me  yet  how  you  solved  the  mystery.  Do  tell  me 
that." 

He  told  her,  kindly,  and  as  frankly  as  he  could, 
how  her  sudden  departure  had  served  to  deepen  the 
suspicions  that  she  did  have  the  missing  record.  He 
even  hinted  to  her  something  of  the  seriousness  with 
which  the  lawyers  had  contemplated  taking  some 
sort  of  action,  forcing  her  to  give  up  the  record  they 

3H 


THE  REWARD 


supposed  she  had,  but  seeing  how  the  thought  of 
all  this  frightened  her,  he  hastened  to  reassure  her. 
He  might  have  told  her  that  Mr.  Shelton  had  ad- 
vised that  a  sheriff  serve  on  her  "writ  of  replevin" 
by  which  she  could  be  forced  to  give  up  the  record 
until  ownership  could  be  proved;  he  might  have  told 
her  that  the  papers  in  the  case  had  been  prepared 
and  that  the  sheriff  did  inquire  for  her  at  the  hotel 
only  to  find  that  she  had  left  two  hours  before;  and 
he  might  have  told  her  how  this  entire  incident  only 
served  to  deepen  the  suspicion  against  her  and  how 
he  saved  the  day  by  solving  the  mystery  and  claim- 
ing the  reward  that  was  rightfully  hers  and  which 
he  now  wished  to  deliver  to  her.  But  he  told  her 
none  of  these  things  then. 

"I  was  so  surprised  and  distressed  and  disap- 
pointed to  find  that  you  had  gone,"  he  said,  "I  could 
not  interest  myself  just  then  in  the  solution  of  that 
stupid  mystery — there  was  another  mystery  I  was 
interested  in  solving,  another  reward  I  was  think- 
ing of." 

Everything  in  that  familiar  room  seemed  to  be 
pulsing,  throbbing  with  new  life  and  the  very  air  she 
breathed  seemed  to  be  electrified.  Every  fiber  of  her 
being  was  sending  out  currents  and  then  great  waves 
of  happiness,  a  swelling  tide  of  tumultuous  joy,  swept 
over  her  soul.  The  tenderness  in  his  eyes,  the  soft- 

315 


RECORD  NO.  33 


ness  of  his  voice,  the  genuineness  of  his  words — it 
was  none  of  these  that  wrought  this  magic  in  her 
soul;  for  these  outward  signs  at  best  can  but  reflect 
from  a  great  distance,  as  pictures  may  be  reflected 
in  myriads  of  mirrors,  the  infinite  joy  of  love  in 
the  measureless,  mysterious  depths  of  the  human 
soul.  What  need  of  words  between  them?  How 
hollow,  how  inadequate,  how  pitifully  cold  they 
seem  in  this  wonderful  moment  in  which  her  soul 
began  to  live ! 

In  another  moment  she  was  sitting  beside  him  on 
the  couch  and  he  was  telling  her  of  things  she  wanted 
to  know — of  the  record,  his  record,  and  of  how  he 
came  at  last  to  solve  the  mystery.  As  he  talked 
she  saw  again  his  study  with  its  shaded  lights  and 
rows  of  books.  He  told  her  how  he,  too,  had 
known  loneliness  and  longings  and  how,  on  one  of 
those  quiet  evenings  when  he  sat  and  thought  of 
her,  he  had  taken  his  "Louisiana  record"  and  slipped 
it  on  the  machine  to  try  to  discover  why  she  could 
have  loved  it  so. 

"I  was  quite  sure,  of  course,"  he  was  saying,  "that 
I  should  hear  my  own  voice." 

"And  you  did  not?"  she  asked  quickly.  "You 
found  the  scientific  record?" 

"I  found  the  scientific  record,"  he  answered 
simply. 

316 


THE  REWARD 


"Oh,  I  wish  I  could  make  you  understand  how 
penitent  I  am,"  she  said,  for  the  seriousness  of  the 
whole  thing  now  dawned  upon  her  for  the  first  time. 
"I  should  have  told  them  in  the  beginning  that  I 
had  the  Louisiana  record.  I  should  at  least  have 
told  you,  that  first  night,  after  you  had  been  so  kind 
to  me.  Please  believe  me,  had  I  known  that  I  was 
keeping  you  from  that  reward,  I  should  have  told 
you  everything  I  knew,  immediately." 

The  Professor  leaned  over  and  looked  into  her 
drooping  face,  and,  with  infinite  tenderness,  he 
said, 

"Do  not  feel  so;  I  understand  it  all  now,  and  I 
knew  all  the  time  how  true  and  sweet  you  are.  I 
cared  little  for  that  reward  then.  I  care  less  now. 
It  has  made  me  strangely  happy  to  know  that  some- 
thing has  made  you  love  the  record  I  made.  I  came 
to  Kentucky  to  find  you,  to  claim  from  you  the  only 
reward  I  want,  the  only  reward  I  could  ever  wish 
for;  your  friendship — and — perhaps  even  more." 

From  the  dark  canvas  above  the  mantel  the  sweet 
face  of  her  mother  looked  down  in  benediction. 
Something  stirred  in  the  heart  of  the  dying  coals  and 
bright  flashes  of  new  light  played  about  the  room. 
In  the  misty  sky  above  his  head  the  single  star  of 
hope  shone  with  a  wondrous  splendor  above  the 

stricken  figure. 

317 


RECORD  NO.  33 


From  the  little  old  writing-desk,  with  its  gleaming 
roses  of  mother-of-pearl,  she  took  the  faded  note, 
which  she  had  read  in  that  room  months  ago.  Years 
had  passed  since  the  French  soldier  lover  in  a  prison 
of  the  North  wrote  to  his  sweetheart  in  Louisiana 
that  he  dreamed  only  of  home  and  happiness  and 
love  with  her.  Together  these  lovers  of  to-day  read 
the  faintly  traced  words  and  at  the  end  the  initials, 
"C.  M.,"  which  were  also  his  initials. 

In  the  shadow  of  the  little  room  she  loved  so 
dearly,  she  felt  the  light  of  his  love,  glorifying  every 
familiar  object,  and  she  knew  that  her  soul  had  come 
into  its  own. 

(*) 


THE   END 


000126504 


